


Eventide

by MoonWitch96



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Criticism, F/M, One-Sided Attraction, Rewrite, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2018-12-25 09:03:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 82,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12032625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonWitch96/pseuds/MoonWitch96
Summary: Nineteen & counting, Lauren 'Izzy' Calderon wakes up in a strange world. An eerily familiar world that involves sparkly vampires & the whirlwind romance of Isabella Swan. Only she isn't here, Lauren is, taking up her life with characters not even batting an eye. Her only line to sanity is her cell phone & the hope that this is a crazy dream.





	1. Kidnapping Seems to be A Better Alternative

" _Hey you, out there on the road...Can you help me?...Hey you, out there beyond the wall...  
Can you help me?...Hey you, don't tell me there's no hope at all._"  _Hey You_ , Pink Floyd 1979

She wakes up and she isn't in her bed. At first, she doesn't realize it, because she's sort of a zombie at least an hour after she wakes up and the room is still dark. She moans, pulling whatever is covering up and over her head. She wants to sleep more, relish the first free time she's had in a month since her projects had piled up. It's such a short break, she can just sleep in for once... Plus, it was Saturday, so she didn't have to get up in a rush to catch her bus to school like she does on Mondays and Wednesdays. She can enjoy a lazy day of fanfiction and movie marathon. Maybe some sketching or getting around to actually making an art piece that is personal, her's and not an assignment.

She debates with herself the pros and cons of getting up now or trying to get back to sleep. But she is more or less awake and there's no point. She yawns, rubbing her eyes as she sits up, stretches, relishing the small cracks in her back. Absently running a hand through her short cropped hair, she pats with her other hand around in the direction her window should be in, the sile specifically. She always puts her phone there, along with her remote for the television and she wants to check the time.

She gets empty air.

She blinks.  _What the frack?_  Wonders for half a second if she fell asleep downstairs on the extra bed her mom has for guests and realizes that she is on a bed as tiny as her own twin sized one. Lauren Calderon takes a good look at the room she's in. Firstly, it's much larger than her room, even in the dark she can tell that; with its sloped ceilings, bare of any furniture but a desk with a dinosaur of a computer that she hasn't seen since she was in elementary school, a cork board and a rocking chair in one corner, near a window with old, lace curtains.

It's a very far cry than her cluttered, shelf filled room. It gives her no clue to where she is and why- neutral colors, pale blue walls, and pale wooden floors. Clean, smelling strongly of bleach and some sort of wood polish, and stuffy. It doesn't look like it could belong to anyone, really, a blank slate to fill your own personality with.

Her room is _her's,_  it screams Lauren Isabel Calderon: colorful, half the time it's a mess but it organized neatly in divided areas for maximum use in the tiny space. It's her sanctuary, her studio and her little nest when her anxiety and depression is at its most potent. Her room is full to the brim with knick-knacks of her favorite tv shows, anime, posters and papers and movies, snacks. Her shoes scattered on the floor, jackets, and scarves tossed on the ottoman uses as a desk chair, blankets and stuffed animals she has no heart to toss out on top of a shelf in the corner which held her snacks, and games. Books, comics, manga and movies lined up and stacked up neatly, filling another shelf, overflowing and screaming of her haphazard tastes of fantastical, nostalgic and the bizarre.

Pens, papers scattered across her desk and her coffee table, small coffee maker atop a small end table by the door giving the smell of tea and coffee about the room. She can feel herself each time she enters her room; smells her lotions and perfumes, the dust she spreads on the carpet to make it smell like apples and cinnamon, candles and that distinct smell of sharpies, paint or nail polish. She feels safe and beautifully alone in her room because.. well...

It's  _lived_  in.

This room is cold and impersonal. It would've been sad, really, because she can see some semblance of life, very old and long gone. Fade pictures pinned up on board, they are crude and speak of a very small child, Christmas lights and purple lanterns are awkwardly hung by the desk, stuck with duck tape in a rushed job. The strong smell of cleaning solutions permanent the room, but she can see dust lining the computer as if the person who had cleaned had rushed the job. It's squeaky and clean and at the same time it is haphazardly cold in its unlived state, and it's as if it's trying to be pleasant and welcoming and it sends legitimately creepy vibe instead.

She blinks again, rubs at her eyes as if she's having an after vision of a dream.

_Wake up. Come on Lauren, wake up, get up right now._

The strange room doesn't go away. She looks away from it, stares at her hands in her lap. The purple comforter tangled around her legs is vividly different than the blue, fuzzy, soft, double sided dolphin/flower combo she got when she was eleven and makes her not ignore the situation she's in. It's pretty and shiny, satin material, matching the lanterns by the desk. She squeezes her eyes shut, scrambling for a logical explanation why the hell she was in a room she didn't recognize. She doesn't find one that is plausible and feels herself start to breathe very quickly. She's trembling and she wonders what the hell was going on.

_Stay calm. Don't scream, don't panic too badly. Don't be an idiot in a horror movie. Don't be an idiot in a horror movie._

Quickly and as quietly as she can in her panic, she get's out of the bed. She stops as she stares at her clothes. Lauren went to bed with booty shorts, braless and in a tank top. It was eighty degrees outside and boiling in her room because it's at the front of the house and facing the sun, she hates the heat, loathes it entirely. Hates to sweat hates the feel of it against her skin and the oppressive feeling of heat that across her pale-ish skin and makes her red and splotchy. She doesn't do bras when she's in the comfort of her own home because she is well endowed and her mammaries appreciate a break as does her back. She's dressed now, she notes, in a bra, black sweatpants, a ratty t-shirt full of holes and thick, plain gray socks.  _It's cold as fuck in here, I have goosebumps._ She feels violated, wondering who the hell changed her. clothes She licks her lips and looks around.

She doesn't see any shoes on the floor, like in her room, just worn pale wooden floors, a large window, and two doors. She takes a chance, and creeps to one and opens it. A closet, very bare and small compared to her own cluttered, walk in mess is what she sees and she breathes a sigh of relief. She looks around and spots four pairs of shoes lined up neatly in the right corner. She checks the size, shivers at the fact that they are just her size and grabs the white chucks: particularly new, not a scuff or a stain, but worn to suit, frighteningly enough, her slightly wider foot at the toes. Her own pair of dirty, floral pair had the same crease where her toes start.  _What the hell._

She puts them on with trembling fingertips, and she tries to stop the stinging heat in her eyes or the fact that her breath is coming in harsh, hiccupy little gasps. Lauren then snatches a huge, thick black hoodie, noting again, that it's her size(in fact with a quick check she can see that the small wardrobe is all in her size range*) and walks back to the room.

_Don't scream. Try to stay calm. Don't be an idiot in a horror movie. Don't be an idiot in a horror movie. You're an intelligent, non-promiscuous brunette. Points for you, less chance of being the first killed and more chance of being the plucky last survivor. Increase your chances of survival and **think**._

That's something she tells herself each time she walking home from school late at night, downtown in the less touristy bits of town, where there's little to no foot traffic and it screams of slasher/ rapist vibes. It's dark, the streets are deserted and she's usually clutching her pepper spray in her right hand, with a box cutter in her back pocket. She listens to music softly in one ear and keeps her other ready to hear footsteps behind her. The distance from her bus stop and her campus is roughly seven city blocks and half the time it's filled with shady people that she does her best to ignore. The bitch face is her best friend and she always tries to never show fear or hesitation. She's been followed more than once and has always tried to keep calm even when someone is freaking her out. That's the only thing keeping her from screaming hysterically now.

_Don't be an idiot in a horror movie._

It's still somewhat dark, but lighter than when she woke up but giving her fairly good internal clock(not that it matters now that it could possibly be in a different time zone) she guesses it's very early morning, roughly five or six. She looks around for a weapon, eying the door that leads to the rest of the house and finds a baseball bat, purple with butterflies, obviously meant for little kids but still heavy, underneath the bed when she checks, next to a little shoebox that says 'Isabella's' in a mixture of crayon and Crayola marker. Also, much to her damn relief, she finds her phone sitting on her pillow when she checks the bed for a clue. She stuffs that into her bra(that doesn't belong to her either and looks much more expensive than anything she owns, she notes with growing dread) and heads towards the window.

It's really green outside, is her first thought, she lives in a very green suburb, with trees and wildflowers in the summer. But this green is very dark,  _evergreen,_  vibrant and rich, unlike the softer colors she's used too. Her second one is that she's on a second floor.  _A floor is roughly ten feet, not too bad of a fall. Just don't land on your face or back._ Also, there's a tree right next to the window when she whips away the condensation on it. She looks back at the door, white, looking so innocent. Whoever brought her here could be right outside, and she rather not risk that.

She opens the window and is dead relieved that it can be open, but cringes when it starts to squeak about halfway up. She stops, breathing deeply, licking her lips, checking the door that leads to the rest of the house. Waits from some sort of noise to indicate that someone had heard. It doesn't move and the house stays silent. She throws caution to the wind and throws it open. The noise is loud, but after a minute of the door not moving she relaxes her tense posture. She licks her lips and heaves herself onto the window sile.

The window is large, not floor length, but she can sit comfortably in it without hitting her head. She isn't very tall, just five foot nothing, but that still surprises her. The smell just after rain hits her and in any other circumstances she would have loved that, loved the biting cold that settled over her, nips at her exposed cheeks and nose. But right now she can only think of the cold that had just started to settle, chasing away the Texas sun and easing into winter. There were only three seasons where she lived, hot as hell most of the year, wet as hell for a bit of the year, and cold as hell the rest of it.

_How long have they had me here? Have I blocked it all out or did they just move me somewhere where it get's cold in November?_

Lauren licks her dry lips, squirms in her seat because she just realized she really needs to pee on top of it all. She eyes the tree in front of her, clutching at the small, metal bat with one hand and the other at the edge of the insanely big window. The closest branches touch the side of the house, but those are thin and definitely won't hold her hundred and sixty something pounds of squish and tush comfortably. One branch, about a foot away, looks like it can hold her weight. She licks her lips again, blinks rapidly and looks towards the ground. Mostly grass, full of dew. She can do grass.  _If you don't make it to the tree, bend your knees. Like when I was five and I would jump off the top of the monkey bars, no biggie, easy peasy lemon squeezy._

She tosses the bat to the ground and scouts the furthest she can on the ledge towards the thick branch. Lauren wasn't athletic, not like when she was a kid zipping around like a meth head on a sugar high. But the thought of whoever was in the house that had stripped her, changed her, _touched_ her and brought her God's knows where, makes her take a deep breath, lick her lips, and launch herself off of the ledge.

She almost doesn't make it. Her first hand slips right off the slick, moss-covered branch. It's her second hand, snatching up, flailing and with her screeching that saves her. The dangerous swing she get's is what allows her to straddle the slightly vibrating and creaking branch. Drops of water drip down from soaked leaves, getting in her eyes and soaking her partially through. She scratched her palms, and her thighs ache from the force of smacking against the tree. But she's stable and the branch holds her weight.  _Now to get down, slowly, swing yourself up, just like recess_. She had been a boss at the handlebars, could flip and swing herself up, get to the tallest set and everything. Except the swings had been her favorite most of the time and it's been a long time since she'd set foot in a playground.

She hooks her right leg, grips the branch after shimming closer to the trunk, where the branch is thicker, more stable and tries to get on top. She slips again, not quite able to haul her weight on the first time and slips back. Her head hits some branches and sends a stream of water from rain squirting all over her. She blinks, grits her teeth and tries again until she's seated on the branch, panting and trembling. Lauren squeezes her eyes shut again, breathes deeply through her nose in a well-practiced yoga way, easing her breathing and trying to ease the adrenaline high she was on.

She get's down from the tree damp, bruises and scratches galore, probably covered in moss and leaves in her hair. She doesn't care, snatches the cold and wet bat and starts heading for the treeline, away from the street. Once she's in the woods, near the tree line, she stares back at the house. It looks so normal- smaller than her own house, but with a large back yard, no fence. She could pass it any other day and think nothing of it. She squints at it, trying to memorize it before she slowly starts making her way right, keeping an eye on the vastly spaced houses, just out of reach of the forest. It isn't until she can see a road with no houses anymore, that she stops and fishes her phone out of the bra. She huddles against a tree, facing the direction of the house she just came from.

She dials 911 with trembling fingers thanking God she has wonderful reception in what's obviously a rural-ish town.

"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?" the voice is female calm and it makes Lauren realize how tense she is.

Her shoulders slump, her entire body sags and she falls to the ground because her legs are trembling so damn much. She sobs, a little high pitch sort of snort that would have horrified her had she made that noise on any other day. She's  _going_  to be fine. She's more or less safe. She still clutches the butterfly bat against her chest, blinking rapidly as she cried, hot tears leaking down her cheeks.

"Ma'am, are you still there?"

"Yes," her voice is rough and high, a combination of stress and sheer relief, "Yes, I'm here, I'm sorry."

"That's alright. Now tell me what's the state of your emergency."

"I think I've been kidnapped," she blurts and she gives a half little giggle at how ridiculous that is.

Her family isn't rich. At best, they had been lower middle class when she was a child. Now, there are barely making ends meet. She's unemployed, a full-time student, a fine arts major, with long hours and scraping and scrimping to make the best of the meager funds her family can give her. There's no ransom money to be given. If there was it's because of her extended family, maybe, her God-Father(also her maternal uncle) is rich and somewhat prominent down in Mexico, has had some run in with the Cartels because of it. But at the same time, there are other family members that are better, easier targets than a niece that lives in another country. She doesn't think she's particularly pretty; she has a baby face and is heavier set, not enough to be quite curvy but enough to have a bit of a muffin top and passable girls. But sexual predators sometimes don't need a gorgeous captive. The thought that maybe her baby face got her nabbed is vivid and entirely plausible. She had been given the kids menu until she was in high school and has been hit on enough with 'hey, you're sixteen right?' and a crude leer by many men that have no business hitting on teenagers.

She's stunned that this is happening, that she's in a strange place crouching in mud, muck, and moss after escaping her captor's house. She's sobbing again, but there's that odd interruption of a hysterical giggle that she can't stop.

"Can you describe what happened? What makes you think that you were kidnapped?"

"I woke up in a room that wasn't mine. Someone  _changed_ my clothes," she starts to gag, vivid imagination thinking that, knowing that foreign, stranger hands had touched her, "I just… Got out, and now I'm in the woods and I'm so  _scared_..."

"Ma'am, can you state your name and age?"

She loves crime shows _, Forensics Files_ , and  _F.B.I._  being some of her favorites. And once upon a time, she had wanted to be in law enforcement herself. She recognizes that the operator just wants to calm her down, gets her coherent to assess her validity of her claim.

"Lauren Calderon, I'm nineteen," her faint Mexican accent slips like it always does when she' s stressed.

Spanish had been her first language and while she had been born and raised in the United States, sometimes her first language is emphasized in odd words. Normally, her English is perfect and without a slight hitch, but Spanish's rolled r's or odd infliction sneaks its way into her voice. Especially when she's emotional. At the moment, she feels more than emotional.

"Can describe the location, some sort of landmark, Lauren? Are you near a road?"

She looks around, heading cautiously towards the road.

"I'm on the end of a street called Fern Hill Road. It's some sort of neighborhood, it's surrounded by a forest. Um, maybe pine trees? I don't know. I'm not a botanist. I do know that I came from the house that is at the furthest down the road."

She has never seen such a place. She's been a city girl all her life, even visiting her parents' rural hometowns in Mexico weren't anything like this place. Those were tropical, high grasses and short trees with heady, humid smells. Flowers and fruits and dusty forest floor that dusted her bare feet in a layer of dry grime. Wherever she is, it is wet, cold, moss everywhere and had trees that towered over the two stories houses that littered the one sided street. Her neighborhood is just a sprawling nearly gated community on the very edge of the city, a mixture of city and undeveloped half-hearted forests that break the rolling grass meadows full of bluebonnets and tall grasses.

"Do you have any injuries?"

"Some cuts and bruises, from getting out of the house... I jumped out a window," she mutters and quickly, she heads for the trees again. She feels exposed and not comfortable.

"That was very brave, kid. Now, there is no Fern Hill road in the city," says the woman suddenly and Lauren freezes.

While she doesn't live in the biggest city in the country, she does live in a big city. The chance of it not having a street name aren't very high. She gasps.

"What?" her voice breaks and she feels herself start to shake again.

"Stay calm. I want you to head towards the road. Away from the direction you came from and find the nearest house or passing car. I also want you to stay on the line. I'm going to track you and send some your way if I can, is that alright Lauren, hon?"

If the American school system had taught her anything, it was to follow directions from an authoritative, calm voice.

"Okay. Okay. I can do that," she starts heading away from Fern Hill Road.

She walks for longer than she expected. There had been hardly any houses beyond the house she had just escaped from, but away from Fern Hill Road, there is nothing but a single road and endless expanse of towering trees. She stays fairly close to the road and learns that the woman on the line is named Holly and she is trying to get a trace on her location, which is somehow not working. The calmness of her voice is what gets Lauren to take one step in front of another. It is about ten minute into her journey that a single car appears on the road. It's driving fairly fast, but all she can think is that she can find out where she is.

She sprints to the middle of the road, waving her arms like a crazy person. The car slows sleek and easy, black and gleaming metal, turning so that it's blocking the entire road and the driver's side is facing her. Its windows are tinted and Lauren wonders if it's too dark, knowing that there's some law or another that stipulates that it can't be darker than a certain shade. But that slips from her mind the second the window glides down.

Her phone clatters to the floor.

"Are you alright?" says the man a frown on his pale lips.

Lauren is no stranger to pale. She was milk-white until recently, even with the rosy undertones of her skin. She has seen alabaster skinned people who burn in the sun. They literally have nothing on the man staring at her, blonde brows furrowed. She licks her lips and blinks rapidly. Lauren is an artist, she's seen works of arts that make her want to weep. Been stirred by the beauty before, is an avid movie and tv show binger so she's seen many a hot celebrity.

The man in front of her is so good looking it's frankly alarming. Quickly, she scrambles for her phone, noting, surprised that its screen is black, and even as she smashes the power button on the back that it does not turn back on, even if it had half a battery just a second ago. She looks back at the man, blinks rapidly at the killer and heavy bags he has underneath his eyes. The only imperfection she thinks on his creepily smooth face(seriously it's like the uncanny valley and perfect Squidward smashed together).

"Miss?" he leans forward and gets out of the car.

His movements are just as eerie as his appearance, too smooth, too easy, too inhuman. The hair on the back of Lauren's neck stands up. She takes a scrambling step back. And then what comes out of his perfect cupid bow of a mouth causes her world to tilt on its side, do the Gangnam style and then punch her in the face:

"My name is Carlisle Cullen, I'm a Doctor, are you hurt?"

At first, she just wants to laugh in his face. Because seriously, talk about a dated reference. He looks nothing like the guy who played Carlisle in the film, and though it's been eight years since she's read so much as a fanfiction for Twilight, she can bring his general description fairly easily to mind: perfect, but somehow less perfect than Edward according to Bella, blonde hair, roughly in his twenties and somewhat tall, golden eyes. Movie star good looks, yet somehow inhumanly beautiful and pale. She blinks at the stranger and _really_  looks at him.

He is entirely too pretty- the best features mashed together; strong jaw line, big eyes, nice lips, straight nose and, luminous, wavy blonde hair that looks incredibly soft. And honey(cue nearly fucking yellow) eyes. There on the darker side, like some sort of light beer, but not black. And it is  _inhuman_ , the way he looks, but not in the entirely fuckable way, or beautiful way as Bella describes for the majority of the books, it's frankly…

_Eerie._

He's moving, breathing, blinking and shifting foot to foot but it's so synchronized that she can almost find the pattern that he's following to appear to fidgety. And that is something that an actor could never, ever achieve. Her knees buckled and Lauren collapsed on the road in a heap. Because  _this can't be fucking happening._

"I'm lost," she says softly and the hysterical edge to her voice is high and clear.

Lauren wonders faintly, how on earth that being kidnapped is a better alternative, more plausible explanation than being in the world of Twilight.


	2. The Pictures on the Wall

_"Hm, we keep this love in this photograph...We made these memories for ourselves...Times forever frozen still..." Photograph,_ Ed Sheeran, 2014

Lauren is in shock. That is the only way she can explain why she lets  _Doctor Cullen,_ three-hundred-year-old vampire, slowly and easily guide her into the passenger seat of his stupidly shiny car. He doesn't move to touch her, else she might have bolted, but instead opens the door with a gentle: 'warm yourself up, my dear' and a sweeping gesture of his arm. His jacket, nice and dry is draped across her as soon as she automatically buckles up. He takes it off without hesitation, closing the door behind her and it is cool as if she had just taken off a coat rack left out in the cold weather. She stares blankly ahead at the dashboard, all leather, all black. She's trying to process this, trying to think about what could be happening. Trying being the key word.

_I'm dreaming. Okay, fair, not usually this vivid of a dreamer, but it can't really be happening. Doctor Carlisle Cullen is a fictional character. I've written fanfiction and read about him. This is just a vivid dream. It_ _**has** _ _to be a vivid dream._

She looks towards him, blinking and licking her lips, again and again. He's on the phone, calmly, calling Nine-one-one like she had done logically just a little under fifteen minutes ago. His sleeves are rolled up as if that was completely normal in roughly what feels like forty degree weather. Lauren herself loves the cold- she relishes the feel of it on her skin, but most people are not comfortable in what feels like forty degree-ish weather, not to the point of not hunching over and getting goosebumps on their arms. She can see him smiling glittering teeth, making vague gestures with his long, spindly hand. She can't really hear what he's saying, just a muffled mutter of his voice. She licks her lips.

_Think logically, come on, express your inner Spock. You've been doing pretty well when you thought you were kidnapped._

But Lauren can't think, not really, her mind a roaring blank and all she can really do is rapidly breath and blink. The butterfly bat is clutched to her chest underneath the large and very expensive looking jacket when the Doctor went to take the driver's side. She's half tempted to lock the doors as he makes his way but instead eyes him warily. He has the keys in his hands anyway, so she can't speed off. Just kinda scream or laugh hysterically and huddle inside the car if she locks it with the automatic locks. It would make her _feel_  better, but it wouldn't change her situation.

He turns to her with a smile once he seated, the door behind him a sort of final click.

It's an easy one, with straight white teeth. It's  _also_ very disturbing, she thinks, watching his mouth. Each of the teeth looks normal, neither too big nor small- Only there's a slight sheen to them, a strange off color that most wouldn't notice. A semester of a tortuous color theory had more or less made Lauren very much aware of cold and warm tones, of figuring out how to differentiate small shifts like that. If anything, her foundations' teacher can claim that he at least instilled the ability to tell the difference between a warm or cool color. Whatever is in his mouth is a sickly color, warm in tone, yellowish-pink in hue that is so minute that it could easily blend in the mouth, shiny in comparison with what she would consider normal. His gums are also a shade darker than what she knows has to be 'venom'.

_A sickly, kinda corspy color._

She licks her lips.

"Well, Isabella, it seems you gave your father a bit of a fright when you weren't in the room, he's waiting for you at home," he says easily as he starts the car, "I've agreed to take you home."

 _My father passed away in March*_ , is her first thought, staring at the eerie creature, her heart twinges and she tries to hold back the growl at the fact that a stranger is bringing him up so casually, so  _callously_. The next is,  _why the hell is Dr. Sparkle calling her Isabella?_

"Um…"

The car starts, speeding off at an alarming rate that makes Lauren lurch forward slightly, her seatbelt digging into her torso. She hisses.

"I've heard a lot about you Isabella," another flash of his unsettling teeth, "Charlie is really pleased you decided to finish high school with him."

 _He legitimately thinks I'm Bella Swan._ The thought is sudden but certain in her mind. Lauren has always been intuitive and quick. Her mind goes back to the little shoe box beneath the bed.  _Oh, no. No. Come on. That's-_

"And of course I prefer to see the Chief happy. He's a good man, Isabella."

Lauren debates correcting him as he calls her that again. She also debates opening the door and tucking and rolling out of the car. Or slapping herself in the face. But, she thinks, eying his speed dominator, that isn't the safest idea. So she decides to play along until she can get the hell away from him. So she just nods her head smiles timidly and raises the borrowed jacket higher on herself, covering her mouth and sinking lower into the leather seat, faking shyness. The car she notes, as they lapse into awkward silence, is slowing down after her fifth look at the speed-dominator.

"I have children attending Forks High right now," he starts after a minute, attempting to once again to coax her into a conversation. She doesn't know why she doesn't really care.

_I might actually be in medical shock._

She shivers and huddles deeper in the seat, clinging to the bat.

"Isabella, are you unwell?"

He looks away from the road, turning his full torso to face her. She shrieks:

"EYES ON THE ROAD!" it's an explosion of noise from her throat, she has always had poor volume control and at the moment even if she knows about his advance reflexes the sight of him turning his entire torso sends off alarm bells.

He pulls over instead of looking away from her, in a rapid movement that has her yelping. Her knuckles are straining against the metal bat.

"Miss Swan, look at me."

Out of habit more than anything, she turns and is greeted by a flashlight in her eyes.

"Follow the light and keep your head still."

"I'm not concussed," she snaps, turning away from the light, blinking rapidly, "Stop it."

"You seem abnormally quiet. I was simply troubled, Miss. Swan." he says softly, the reprimand clear in his voice.

She licks her lips and blurts out:

"Maybe I don't like talking to strangers. Maybe I am normally quiet," it's a snap and herLatinn temper seems to be getting the best of her. She forgets completely where she is, or how easily the vampire across from her can snap her neck if he discovered she  _knew_ what he was.

Lauren is fairly shy, or better worded,  _wary_ around strangers. She usually very uncomfortable around them simply because she doesn't know what to expect. She doesn't speak unless spoken too, and even then it's clipped sentences. She isn't rude, but rather polite, 'yes, please and excuse me' are a big part of her everyday speech. But she isn't inviting. It's a byproduct of working in the fast food industry and of her own anxiety. When she's comfortable, however, she can hardly shut up, much to the dismay of her family and friends.

She doesn't know the person across from her further than what she can remember about the books, and while she knows of his compassion for the species he once was and his supposed reverence for life, she also knows he is not adverse to killing as Meyer had wanted to portray him. If Midnight Sun is any indication, after Edward had saved Bella, the only thing that really swayed him from giving Jasper the go ahead was because Edward was in love with her. Not his reluctance to kill, not his morality, but because his son wanted the girl. He was more than ready to kill if it meant keeping the fucking secret of bloodsuckers running around, even if it was slight of getting out as a girl who might have seen something after hitting her head violently against the pavement.

While Carlisle Cullen might not dirty his hands, his family did and he covered it up easily without much remorse.

So no, she was not comfortable with him and did not want to talk with him. Especially because this didn't,  _couldn't_ be really happening.

_The amount of death that has happened because of this man, even by extension of his 'children' is freaky as fuck. Me and Miriam have had many a rant about that, read sporkings* and everything that explained the estimate death toll and were rightly horrified over it._

He's staring at her, brows furrowed, before they smooth out. He faces looks like a greek statue for a second, so brief before it settled into that uncomfortable, eerie smile. Pink gleamed in his mouth.

"I apologize, Isabella. You must be exhausted after your ordeal."

She nods, tightening her grip on the small bat. The Doctor starts the car again and swings it smoothly onto the road. He doesn't try to talk to her, instead, he turns on the radio, to N.P.R., and hums absently. Lauren focuses on the voices, smooth, calm and basically anything she doesn't feel right now. There arrive on Fern Hill Road and go to the last house. A cursor sits in the driveway and a beat up, gorgeous creature of an old truck is parked on the curb. Carlisle parks behind it and as soon as the car is stationary she eases her grip on the bat, unbuckles herself and tumbles out of the car. Her movements are stiff and Lauren's heart is pounding hard as she tries to assess her situation-

"Bella!"

She blinks, looks up at the name not because it belongs to her, but because it's being yelled, a startling constraint to the silent street. A man in his late thirties to early forties comes out of the house. He's in full police uniform and  _Sweet baby Jesus that is a hell of a mustache._ He's a tall man, pale, but humanly so, with a riot of brown curls and a worried expression. He's beaming, though he has a furrowed brow and when he reaches Lauren he scoops her up in a hug. She freezes. She doesn't like touching strangers. She's a cuddler but that's only when she's super comfortable. She is not comfortable. She is  _beyond_  not comfortable. Her arms stay stiffly at her side.

_Stranger danger._

"What the hell were you thinking, going off like that?" says the man, stepping back to grip her shoulders, he's frowning now and it does nothing for his actually attractive face, "You don't know the area, Bella, you should be more careful."

_Roll with it. Just roll with this crazy ass dream._

"I wanted to take a walk. The woods looked so peaceful," the words that come out of her mouth are stiff and the first thing she can come up with.

"This isn't the city, Bella," says the man, obviously Charlie Swan, father to one Isabella Marie Swan, "There're animals in the forest that can hurt you."

She blinks, licks her lips.

"I brought a bat," she lifts it.

Charlie blinks and his eyes soften. There's a story there, but she doesn't know it, doesn't even feel any sort of connection to the small purple bat that makes the stern looking man melt like that. Something to do with his kid, obviously and isn't that frightfully sweet. Then again, Charlie had always been that, in her eyes, a wonderful father in the span of two years. But really, Lauren is too scared, too frazzled to even register it properly.

"That didn't stop you from getting lost," says the smooth voice of Carlisle Cullen.

Charlie and her turn towards him, leaning against his slick car. He's smiling again, his jacket now being worn. He hasn't crumpled in any way, his shirt is straight and looks freshly pressed, his jacket perfectly cut to fit his lean and muscular torso. Lauren wished he would stop doing that, smiling. Well, at least with his teeth. She can ignore his abnormally perfect face if he doesn't show his venom coated teeth.  _Kinda like Benedict Cumberbatch or Matt Smith_ , she thinks,  _really nice features isolated, but mashed together just looks somewhat off. Oh God, does that mean the Doctor is a vampire?_

"Chief Swan, I'm glad I could help bring Isabella home."

Charlie is smiling, a grateful look on his face.

"Thank you, Carlisle, I'm glad she flagged you down," the sheer relief in Charlie's voice is palpable and Lauren is vaguely touched at the concern that the man had for his daughter.

It's too bad that she isn't really here.

"Well, I have to go," the vampire checks his watch, "I'm late."

"For a very important date," she blurts, automatically.

The vampire blinks, smiles, softly. This time it's without teeth and his face is much better for it, she thinks.

"Quite right. Be wary of white rabbits Ms. Swan, they don't all lead to wonderland."

He gets into his car, and with a final wave towards them both, the Patriarch of the Cullen Coven goes off to do vampiry things. Maybe. Charlie turns to her.

"You must be freezing, come on."

Still, on autopilot, Lauren follows the Chief into his house. It's a nice place, she reflects, and it is warmer than the outside. She wonders as she shuffles in, licking her lips, what the hell is-

"You locked the door behind you, Bells, I haven't even gotten you a copy of your keys."

She shrugs.

"Dammit Bella, just… Just don't disappear on me like that."

_Um, don't project your issues from your ex-wife on me dude._

She nods instead of saying that aloud. The man is obviously under the impression that she is Isabella Swan, and she can't really think to as to _why_. That's until she looks up, and stares at the photographs lined up on the wall. It's just like what Bella described in the book, all neatly lined up across the span of the foyer. And in all the pictures, Lauren's face stares back at her. She blinks, going up to stand more clearly in front of them. In the first picture, a woman that looks remarkably like Lauren, marrying Charlie.

Lauren looks fairly similar to her real mother, takes after her in coloring, but she had shared many more features with her darker skinned father. The woman in the photograph is like a carbon copy of Lauren, only her eyes are a rich hazel and she is much more deeply tan than the light peach color Lauren had gotten over the summer. She blinks and starts going down the line, heart pounding. Each picture is like a snapshot of Lauren at a different age- only she never took these photos, never owned clothes like the ones Isabella is wearing because  _that is so frightfully nineties. I was a late nineties baby, thank you very much._  She grew up in the early two-thousands and had never worn a scrunchie in her life. Mary-janes and frilly white dress that screamed of her Mexican heritage, but never that much denim at one time.

But Bella Swan looks exactly like her. Down to the two paired freckles that she has in the corner of her left eye. The last picture is recent- It has Bella or Lauren even now she's getting confused because  _what the fucking frack_  smiling awkwardly at the camera wearing a dark green dress that makes her mostly gray* eyes appear green and emphasis her short cropped hair. Her teeth are even identical, straight and perfected by twisting metal torture known as braces, though it looks like, as she looks back at all the pictures, that Bella Swan had had that as well.

 _Am I real?_  It's half a joke in her head. But it also brings her to start hyperventilating because what if she just crazy, all the evidence is pointing out that she  _is_  Isabella Swan.

"I can take them down," says a soft voice, and she turns to Charlie, looking sheepishly at the photos. He sounds disheartened, rubbing the back of his neck.

That just about breaks her heart, his eagerness to take them down, to please his daughter, in what she guesses is suppose to be a huge embarrassment. Her mother was the same way, her house is full of pictures of her children, of her family. She sends her random texts plastered with pictures of Lauren, proud and cooing at her. Sure, it's mildly annoying, sometimes embarrassing to think of all the photographs that she's taken over the years, but she would never ask her mother to take them down because it makes _her_ happy, to display Lauren and her brother and sister. Even the horrible pictures of her eager shutter button pressing, Lauren never has the heart to ever tell her to take it down.

"Don't. It's fine. I just forgot you had them here," she says, softly, trembling head to toe.

He beams at her.

"Really? Thanks, Bells, I mean I know they can be a bit-"

"Charlie," Lauren had hated that in the books that Bella couldn't even call her father properly by the title he so proudly earned throughout the series, but the man, kind and misguided as he was, was  _not_  her father and she as hell wasn't going to call him Dad in her stead,"I prefer Izzy," she says softly and is pleased with how steady her voice is.

Izzy isn't a nickname she uses regularly but it's not as cliched as 'beautiful Swan' and she would answer to it if called by it. And if the wayward heroine who apparently looks the same as a nineteen-year-old Mexican-American college student ever appears, there will be less confusion. He smiles, and it crinkles his warm brown eyes, shows off his decently straight, white teeth.

"That's new, Be- ... Izzy. It suits you."

"I'm really tired. I got up too early… Do you mind if I go upstairs?"

"Sure, _Izzy_ , you did have a long flight yesterday," he smiles again, beaming and eye creasing, "Go be a teenager for once and sleep in, it's still Winter break* for you."

She gives him a faint smile before she goes up the stairs and to the first door. The room she woke up in greets her. Quietly, she closes, then locks the door behind her. Lauren sinks to the ground. She's sobbing before she even realizes it, snot on her upper lip informing her that she is. She desperately paws at her face, trying to get her tears to stop.

_Think, come on Lauren Calderon, think. Be logical. Vulcan this shit up._

She only curls into herself, a hysterical little giggle escaping her.

_I'm Isabella Swan. Two characters have told me this. Her fucking father just confirmed this. Oh God, this is like a fanfiction gone wrong._

Only it isn't a fanfiction, Lauren is actually here, in Forks, Washington, at the start of the novel of _Twilight_. She's in the _Twilight_  Universe. And she's in place of Bella. She blinks, hiccups.

"Why the fuck couldn't it been _Harry Potter_?" she whispers, "I still read  _Harry Potter._  I adore Harry's story. I adore the characters. I still quote it, haven't really put it down since the seventh grade."

Nothing answers her whispered plea and all Lauren can do is sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I do not own the rights to Twilight, nor its characters. That goes to its author, publication company, and film studio.
> 
> This is me just playing in its sandbox, making misshapen sandcastles for our, hopefully, mutual amusement.
> 
> Edit: 1, June 2017
> 
> I should be working on my history essay. It's due tomorrow and I'm such a slacker, but eh, the muse, she beckons! Oh, and as a general heads up, I do not update nearly this often. I'm in school, have projects, homework, and real life kicking my ass. Not to mention, all of my other fanfictions that are active, which, as of now, are twenty in number because I have to become a fangirl in whatever captures my fancy. Most of theses are novel length, so you have been warned.
> 
> *1: My father did pass away this March. I thank the condolences that might come my way ahead of time. He fought for ten years against a plethora of diseases and he isn't in pain anymore. That is all I will say on the subject, as even just including it in the story has me uncomfortable because it's so raw, but I want to represent myself in this world and my reactions, and that is a large part of my identity right now.
> 
> *2: So Sporking. It's generally an intensive review that absolutely rips apart literature, and one of the many reasons I have a more cynical view on Twilight. I highly recommend it to any nostalgic person that wants to look back at the series with a more mature outlook. I don't hate Twilight, and while the sporkings that I have read had completely neutral parties(English majors, by the way, Das Mervin is brilliant!) going in, they hated the whole series, author, etc, going out. And their reasoning on why is completely justifiable. All the things they point out were things that bothered me when I thought of the series, especially in comparison to what I would go on to read. I agree with them on all fronts on what is wrong with the series, as well as the attitude that sprang around it. But, as I said before, despite this, I am not of the same inclination to hate the series. Why? Because I never took it as seriously as the Sporkers. I was eleven, I didn't exactly read a teen romance novel as if it was the guide to all my life. They were something to pass the time in between Harry Potter novels and other things that caught my interest.
> 
> *3: So I have this nifty eye condition called Central heterochromia, which just basically means I have multiple colors in my iris. I have primarily gray eyes, with a thin rim of dark gray around the outside of the iris and very pale yellow near the pupil, as well as serval reddish-brown flecks dotting my irises here and there. Depending on lighting and what I'm wearing, my eyes can more or less appear to be a similar color to that, as long as it's in the gray, blue, green range. So if I wear a blue shirt, my eyes look blue, same if green and if I wear an another color it more or less depends on the lighting.
> 
> *4: I know Bella arrives in Forks on the 17th of January, 2005. I've changed it. For plot reasons, more on that later! It's the 5th of January instead if anyone's curious. I have a calender planning all this out because in the novel proper it is so fucking vague.
> 
> As most can tell by the very nature of the self-insert(in this case the actual self-insert, not OC insert), this fanfiction will be a very personal look into my life. A lot of the names have been changed, as are the locations, but as of now, this is going to be my life in the closest way I can tell it without handing out my social security number. I am not the best person, nor the prettiest, nor the smartest, have huge issues surrounding my laziness, my emotional disconnection, etc. But I'm just me, and while a part of me always goes into my characters and stories, this one, in particular, is getting more of me because of my once very real personal connection to Twilight.
> 
> I hated reading as a kid. LOATHED it. And then I read a book series called Phantom Horse by Janie Lee Sumner and my world kinda changed. I read more and more, and then middle-school came around and it was a shitty time, hormones, bullying, but I had reading and at the time one of the things I lost myself in was Twilight. As I said in the last chapter, I moved on after the last book came out, read bigger and more complex things. Now, I find myself thinking a lot about that kinda nostalgic series and I'm tackling it with a more (hopefully) mature outlook.
> 
> As well as cheerfully tearing it to shreds in things that genuinely bug me.
> 
> By the way, there will not be romance in this story. This is not a Lost in Austen-esque romance in the works. Why? Because I can honestly say that none of the men of Twilight is someone I could see as a romantic partner. 'Cause their literal characters in a book, and I find that disturbing to think of seriously(Playing Wed, Bed, or Behead is another story entirely, that's for funsies).
> 
> ~Happy reading,
> 
> Moon Witch '96


	3. Life-Line

" _Call me (call me) on the line_  
Call me, call me any, anytime  
Call me (call me) my love  
You can call me any day or night  
Call me," Call Me, Blondie(1980)

Lauren, after a good crying fit and trying to pinch herself awake over the course of the next night, had settled on the fact that yes, she was in a fictional world. Yes, she had seemingly replaced the main character. The next two days passed in a sort of hazy blur and she struggled to make peace with the fact that she  _was_  in this situation.

It didn't mean she had to like it, though, or not try to find a way to 'wake' up or return back to her real life. But, she had no clue.  _At all._  Nor did she have any idea what to do if she _couldn't_  go home. She did, however, readily and very soon became dead set on  _not_  reliving through the events of the books. She  _wasn't_  Bella Swan, despite all the evidence to the contrary, so she didn't need to fall in love with Edward (that was so disturbing to think about)or get herself gnawed on by James or nearly squashed like a bug via Taylor( _Tyler, was the guy's name Tyler or Taylor… It was something with a T at least._ )'s Van.

After all, even if she was at the beginning, it seemed that the book itself was not a reliable enough narrator because she was pretty damn sure Bella had arrived in Forks in the middle of the semester, not towards the end of Winter Break at the start of January. It made a bit of sense, she supposed, Bella had sent some furniture up from Phoenix, as well as a couple of boxes. The one suitcase move made little to no sense to Lauren, she could only ever fit a week's worth of essentials in a fairly sizeable suitcase(she rather be over-prepared than underprepared and always had options when it came to clothes and of course, the thing that took up the most space, art supplies). A move in the middle of the semester would just be stupid- no time to settle in, being tired from the flight and going to school the next day would be inconvenient at the very _least_. The fact that she had a week to get her head together still didn't seem to be enough time.

She had strongly debated to run away, avoid living anywhere near the setting of this book until she could get away from this. It seemed to be a great option. Only the whole problem was that Bella Swan was a minor. Hence, Lauren was seen as a minor. The fact that she was two years a legal adult didn't mean shit to the world who saw her as a relative child. Not to mention tried to come clean on who she was- Well, she didn't even know if she existed at the moment, the thought of going to California and meeting her eight-year-old self was startling, to say the least and she hadn't been brave enough to look up her family quite yet, not if the glaring thought of having a younger form of herself living at the moment(if she even existed in this world).

She wouldn't get very far if she went that route, Charlie was so  _sure_  that she was Bella, treated her with a kindness and reverence that only a father would don't suspect something was wrong. Nothing she did set off alarms to him, and she wondered why… Even Renee, the one person who was supposed to be the closest to Bella, over the phone had taken her in stride, laughed at her sudden desire to be called 'Izzy':

" _Bella," laughed the woman on the phone, her voice was soft and pleasant, "What do you mean you want to be called Izzy?"_

_Lauren licked her lips, hand absently coming up to tug at hair that was no longer there. She frowned, wishing she hadn't cut her waist length hair on a whim, as it had been a comfort to tangle her hands and mess with it. Instead, she pushed back short strands that fell into her face._

" _Forks is a new place…. So new me. I thought Izzy could reflect that," she said simply._

_Renee or the woman Lauren assumed was Renee, laughed again._

" _Good perspective, baby. Even if it_ _ **isn't**_ _new," she paused, then said, "Say the word and you can come home to Phoenix, I'll come back Bella. I'll miss Phil but he knew this was going to be a thing even when he proposed, you don't have to do this..."_

_Renee's voice was genuine and she just seemed confused as to why Bella would leave in the first place. Frankly, from the calm, slightly exasperated voice that all mothers had with their teenage daughters that she had, Lauren could guess that Renee… Renee was just going along with her daughter's decision because she didn't want to argue with her. Lackluster parenting aside, it was still more parenting then the Bella of the novels had claimed. She was sorely tempted to go to Phoenix, but she nixed that idea quickly._

" _Izzy," she said firmly, "I haven't been fair to Charlie. It's a little under two years. I need to get back to my roots."_

" _Alright, baby," Renee was clearly humoring her, as if she was just waiting this out, "Try to keep in touch… You have my email right?"_

_Lauren had found all of Bella's Mom's information in a small planner in one of the bedside tables._

" _Yeah."_

" _Good. Remember, I'm just a phone call away Baby, I love you."_

" _Me too," Lauren couldn't actually bring herself to say the words to a stranger, even when she wasn't in front of her, "Call you soon."_

She debated moving back to Phoenix- but the unease of sparkling vampires with uncontrollable bloodlust wandering around at night pushed that thought away. At least the Cullens had some control over themselves, Jasper and Edward aside. If she avoided them, she would be more or less safe. Either that or claim sanctuary to Sam(as far as she remembered he should be the only wolf at this point) and beg to protected from the Cold Ones. Somewhat of a plan. Another half baked one was moving to Italy and living in Volterra, after all, no one hunted you within the city as long as you lived there, you were the safest from vampires within the city walls. She knew Spanish and Italian wasn't really far off, after all, she had quickly picked on how to say a monkey was reading a book in Italian, so she could pick up on the rest:

_Un scimma legge un libro._

Bella's things had arrived that morning. Lauren had come downstairs, picking at the meager food that was left in the fridge (cold pizza, yum) with the mind that she should really bully Charlie into going to the store. She loved pizza as much as the next girl, but even getting Hawaiian would get old after the fifth time. A doorbell ring later and all of Bella's belongings were in the living room. She and Charlie had spent the rest of the day lugging several waist-high bookshelves, two bedside tables, a large mirror and ten boxes up the stairs, and Charlie, bless him, had stayed stubbornly with her to arrange the furniture in the way she wanted.

_"I got this week off to spend it with you, Izzy, not drink beer and watch the game."_

Reluctantly, but with some relief she had banished the 'Vamp' rocking chair out, taken in a very beat-up lazy boy that Charlie had in the garage in its stead to set it up by the window to have decent light and placed one of the bedside tables next to it with one of the lanterns on it(turns out they were all individual lamps, pretty neat really and she gave Charlie props for choosing them). She had moved the bed so that it lay flush against far wall,  _away_ from the window, placed the last bedside table next to it and made a little office area with the bookshelves by the immobile, surprisingly nice desk(stocked, she noticed with surprise with school supplies like paper and pens a plenty, Charlie's work no doubt). The mirror hung over the inside of the closet door.

"It looks great Be- Izzy," said Charlie, smiling brightly at her.

Lauren gave a tired smile and rubbed at her eyes. Despite the rain more or less lulling her peacefully to sleep each night, the stress of her strange and seemingly impossible situation had more or less brought Lauren's stressed caused Insomnia to come in in full force. She had gotten roughly six hours of sleep in the last thirty-six hour period. Two hours wasn't her worst ever record for lack of sleep(two days straight), but it still took a toll on her.

"It looks liveable," she said bluntly, it was still a bit sterile for her taste, no cute or cool knick-knacks or collectibles in sight or her glass bottle collection, but the room looked more lived in with the new arrangement, so she wasn't as creeped out.

Speaking of creeped out:

"Charlie, are there any other curtains that fit this window? These ones leave a little too much light..."

_And lace is so not conducive to blocking the view of possibly voyeuristic Vampires._

She might not become Edward's lady love, but if she caught any of the family's attention then it was a possibility of being perved upon via creature of the night. She also made a note to find bells to attach to the window somehow, possibly the door too. Paranoia was her friend and she was a light sleeper. It was a better option then nailing the window shut anyway, which she had debated seriously. If she ever opened the window and it didn't squeak, she would know anyway.

"There's some in the closet down the hall."

"Great," she can't help but smile at the man, besides only knowing him for roughly three days since the disastrous Saturday morning of her 'arrival', Charlie was one of the least hateful things of this whole ordeal.

 _Team Mustache Dad all the way,_  she mused.

"I can take it from here Charlie, the heavy lifting is done," she mentioned and she moved towards the mysterious, unmarked boxes.

"Right, I'll order some pizza, Hawaiian right?"

She smiled.

"Half is fine, Charlie, I don't eat as much as you," she said, turning away, "So get half-Hawaiian and half meat lovers, extra bacon, even if it's bad for your heart."

The man laughed and ruffled her already messy mop of a head.

"I'm a young man, sweetheart, don't have to worry about that."

_Fifty was young, and that's when my father started having heart problems._

"Just ease off the burnt meat."

"Seventeen years, and I still don't understand how my daughter doesn't like bacon," he snorts, " _Burnt_  meat she says. Deliciousness, I say."

With that, and an uncomfortable on both their parts kiss on the forehead, the police chief left the room. Lauren stared after him for half a beat, eyes prickling. However awkward, it was so painfully sweet at how hard Charlie was trying to make this work for his 'daughter' (reluctant roommate). It reminded her so much of her own father; an old-fashioned man who still went along with her sometimes stupid antics and had been just so damn proud when she had told him of being accepted into Art school with a full ride, when everyone else at the time had more or less told her that it was a waste of her intelligence and not a steady career...

Charlie was that same sort of devoted to his child, trying to make her happy to be living with a man she hardly ever saw. Though from what she could gather, this wasn't on Charlie's part, but instead on  _Bella's._  Considering how much effort Charlie was trying to put into making Lauren comfortable, it was obvious that he wouldn't limit the contact to just an awkward family vacation every summer. The little league baseball bat and the careful considerations like making note of her favorite type of pizza, it was obvious in how much effort Charlie did to show his daughter that he cared deeply for her. Phone calls, though somewhat expensive in this decade when it wasn't local, would be something that Charlie would gladly pay, she was sure. It must've been all on Bella, and considering her own father was dead, Lauren couldn't help but resent Bella for wasting her's. She didn't even have the excuse of having a bad father.

_If only Bella was really here. She could actually give the man the affection that he needs..._

She turned to the boxes, blinked, shook her head and sighed.

"Let's see what's behind the curtains," she muttered, pushing her hair out of her face.

Three of those boxes had been books, one of shoes, one box had comforters and pillows, and the rest clothes. Bella didn't have a single knick-knack, photo album or electronic like a video cassette player or mp3 in sight, not even a cellphone. Lauren had had a cellphone in 2005(the current year, she had discovered, when she had found a cute cat calendar in the kitchen, it was the first week of January in 2005), at eight-years-old, even if it was just to call her parents in case of an emergency(the joys of being a latchkey kid). The fact that the seventeen-year-old Bella didn't have one baffled her, because this was the time when phones had started to get more mainstream for the average consumer. Her parents hadn't been rich, far from it and yet she had gotten a phone. Not too mention how 'paranoid' Renee was suppose to be...

The boxes came with no video cassettes( _did Bella not watch movies!? Lauren couldn't even comprehend that)_ , a couple of generic cds stuffed between some spines and of course, books. Books and more books, worn, old and obviously bought second hand, much like Lauren's own personal library.

Lauren does love reading.

But all of Bella Swan's books were books that would be on an English class's reading list. Lauren adored classical books; _The Divine Comedy, The Great Gatsby, A Christmas Carol, Pride & Prejudice, Animal Farm_ and _East of Eden_  being among her favorite books of all time.  _But I like diversity too,_  she thinks, looking down at the content of the boxes. She adored fantasy- All Bella seemed to have was an abundance of old British literature. _Romantic_  old British literature: Jane Austen, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, Bronte- No Harry Potter, no fantastical classics like  _The Last Unicorn_  or childhood leftovers of _Matilda_  or  _Redwall_. No sci-fi and to Lauren's complete and utter horror, no manga or comic book in sight.

Her own personal physical collection was much smaller than this, but it had so much more. Not to mention her electronic collection, she thought, which was vast and ranged from gothic horror to shoujo manga, staring at the lackluster selection.  _And Bella complained about the library not having a wide selection?_

Bella Swan was  _so_ boring.

Even her clothes were boring, thought Lauren as she put them away in the tiny closet. All neutral colors with a couple tops being the exception, all very safe cuts of dresses and skirts. The materials were also very heavy for someone who had lived in Arizona, even if Bella had claimed to have made her wardrobe specifically for the cold of Forks. _I've been to Arizona. I'd boil in all of these close, even at the coldest. What the frack._  To her horror, all bell bottom jeans and  _what the fuck is a seventeen-year-old doing with slacks?_  The wardrobe was horribly outdated. At least to her, and while Lauren wasn't a fashionista she dressed cooler than this. It was all… Fuddy duddy, an abundance for an ugly shade of khaki and pheasant shirts that a nineteen-soon to be twenty-year-old shouldn't wear, let alone a seventeen year old.

"What the  _frack_. This is a load of snickerdoodles. Did she raid her mom's closet?"

Lauren missed her high waisted jeggings and skinny jeans. She missed her long A-line skirts inspired by the fifties, she missed her various dresses that snitched at her waist and flared beautifully on her body. She only ever wore wide legged jeans with her kickass boots. The closest thing Bella had to that were a pair of uggs. Lauren scowled at the offending shoe, sure they were warm but they were ugly and overpriced and would do diddly squat in the rainy Forks, squeaky and muddy up the expensive material. She was a picky dresser, not a fashionista but she liked to look good. Uggs, to her, were the opposite of looking good, clunky and... Well, basic white bitch material.

She tossed the boots into the corner and stared at the entire thing. She wasn't present in the wardrobe- nothing about the clothes even hinted at Lauren's own wardrobe, hell, Bella didn't shine. She longed for her own wardrobe: Comfortable, somewhat dressy and kinda vintage, with a few quirky and proudly dorky accessories thrown in. Lauren made a mental note to ask Charlie to take her to a clothing store to be able to feel comfortable here for however long her stay was.

She had found Bella's money sock: worse place to hide money ever she found it in five seconds as soon as she started to look through one of the suitcases in the corner of the room, not to mention, who the hell leaves that much money in a goddamn sock?! It was enough for a down payment on a  _car._ A used car, but it was still much more money as a girl in college had held at any given time. Part of her felt bad. She hadn't earned this money, and she was already planning on spending it.

On the other hand, she was already in the girl's life and she would be horrified to ask Charlie for money even more than taking money that anyone would say was her's. So she was taking the old sock money. After she found a better place to hid it.

Speaking of hiding, Lauren but her ear to the door and heard the distinct noise of the TV playing some sort of sport. She licked her lips. Carefully, she eased away from the door and went to the window. Bella's purple bat was firmly in her hand. Something about the metal weight made Lauren feel better, plus the matches she had swiped from the kitchen. Impossibly strong and fast, the sparklepires were still motherfucking flammable and it made her feel better even if it wouldn't do much(she had never gotten the hang of zippos).

She breathed deep and felt around with her foot, pressing against the pale wooden floor boards. When a board creaked, she carefully pulled at it. In the space between the support boards lay her phone, in all its crappy glory. Eighty bucks and two years later, but it worked. She picked it up and once again pressed the home button nestled on the back. It turned on without a hitch.

She frowned, knowing that the thing didn't turn on when she within five feet of a person other than her. It was the oddest thing, but she kept comfort that it did work and wasn't losing any charge. It was sorta magical, but considering she was in a world of a book series, she didn't tend to question it much. She clutched her phone to her chest, before going to the wallet part of her phone case.

Her student id, her driver's license, her state id, a two-dollar bill from the year 2013, her debit card and credit card, a pass to her local theme park and a quarter from 1996 were her only affirmation that she wasn't Isabella Marie Swan. Her phone and all of its content, from her bus schedules to the music that wouldn't be invented until a decade and then some years, was the most concrete proof that she wasn't simply crazy. Not to mention, her favorite manga and some books in pdf form, and movies in mp4 form. The advantage of modern technology, she had some of her favorite things to help her through troubled times.

"Lauren Isabel Calderon," she read carefully, staring intently at her state id.

She had had longer hair then. Nearly to her waist before she had gotten a little tipsy one night and nabbed some scissors. Her hair was only now just recovering from what her brother dubbed her 'Britney' moment. She didn't really regret it, she did miss her long hair but she had needed the change. She repeated her name over and over, affirming her existence in a ritual she had started to do every night. She wasn't Bella Swan and be damned if anything told her otherwise. She would play her part though as much as she could stomach, at least, until she could find her way  _home_.

Her phone started to vibrate.

Lauren dropped it in surprise. It vibrated against the floorboards, a loud noise as it vibrated along for a few inches. She scrambled for it, flipped upon the faux leather case open and nearly cried. She hadn't been brave enough, not yet, not to for this:

"Miri?" she whispered as she answered, bringing the phone to her ear.

"Lauren?" asked the voice on the end and it sounded as shaky as she felt.

Lauren fell back with a thump, resting her back against the floor. Without meaning to her eyes started to fill. She normally avoided crying, but she couldn't stop gar at the moment.

"Miri, oh Miri!" she sobbed and she never so happy than she did in that moment.

"LAUREN ISABEL CALDERON! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!" screeched the voice of her older sister, Miriam Calderon and she sounded so panicked and relieved that Lauren couldn't help but giggle.

It was half hysterical but well, sue her.

"Miri, oh God Miri you'll laugh your ass off! It's straight out of fanfiction!" she cried and she couldn't stop the sobs and the ugly little snorts that came from half-sobbing and half-laughing in her hysteria.

She went on this way for a bit, her laughter getting louder and louder as she rocked herself on the floor. Her sister made a small noise of anger, a mixture of a sigh and a growl.

"You've been gone for months," Miriam whispered, "The police have been trying but's there's been no leads, they want to declare you dead! You called the police and then there were no ransom demands- Do you even know what the hell you've put Mom through? Half the family came up, Godfather and Godmother were willing to pay for anything, hell even your school was involved, trying to get your picture out-"

The more she talked the quieter Lauren's sobs and giggles got. Slowly, she got up, whipping absently at the snot and tears that had gathered.

"Miriam," she said, trying to get her attention, but her older sister was on a roll.

"It's been months, I get it that you're an eccentric artist and under a lot of fucking pressure but claiming to be kidnapped-"

"It's been three days."

"What the hell is wrong with- Wait what?"

"Miriam," she said, and she tried to keep her voice even, hurt that her sister would think she would lie about  _this_ , "It's only been three days for me. Wherever the hell I am-"

"Lauren, are you okay? Have they hurt you? How did you answer the phone?" she said, startled realization cold in her voice, "Lauren? Oh God Lauren what have they done? Did they drug you after you escaped, did you escape again? They've been drugging you this entire time, oh God. oh God."

Lauren sighed and breathed deeply from her nose. Her sister was insanely intelligent and very logical. Her… situation would be hard to understand even for her, and she was living it.

"I'm in  _Twilight._  I took Bella's place. Miriam, I'm going to be eaten by a sparkle-pyre," she blurted.

The silence on the other end was very telling.

"Lauren," back was the pissed off tone.

Anger was good though. It meant that Miriam was listening.

"Miriam. I'm completely serious. Can you do me a favor and tell me what day the Van day takes place? I rather not get run over by some guy's van."

" _Lauren_."

"Miriam. I'm not kidding. Give me a tick. _And shut the fuck up and listen to me_."

She pressed the speaker and carefully tipped toed her way down the hallway, at the top of stairs(grand staircase unlike in her home, a wrap around and rickety affair that was hard on her Mom's knees). She hid the phone in her sweatpants pocket.

"Hey, Charlie?" she called out.

The Police Chief turned towards her, lifting his head.

"Bella?"

"I told you to call me-"

"Izzy. I remember. Sorry, Honey."

"It's okay. I just wanted to ask if the pizza was here yet?"

"Not yet Iz," he said pointedly and he gave a sort of crinkly smile that yeah, made him look very attractive. If he didn't think she was his daughter, she is sure she would have looked at him from across a library or a restaurant and ogled, he was that nice to look at.

He turned back to the TV, blaring an old game. She wasn't much of a baseball fan, but it would make her point.

"Okay. What's the score?"

"Hm? My Be- Izzy taking an interest in baseball?" he laughed, "Now I can die in peace."

"Ha, ha."

"It's One to zero. It's just a friendly match though," he started off a list of the individual team's prospects.

"Cool. Call me when the pizza's here, please," she said pleasantly. She made her way back to Bella's bedroom and sat down on the lazy boy. She curled her legs under her and pressed her face against the window pane.

The dark hardly ever bothered her, but the fact that a coven of vampires lived a few miles out of town and that the Nomad trio of Laurent, Victoria and James were heading this way did not endear her to it. But she did like the cold. It was a sharp contrast against her skin and made her cool down after her crying fit. She lifted her phone to her ear.

"Miriam. I don't think I've ever been this scared. Not even when Dad died. I could make sense of that, as much as it hurt and how much I didn't want it. I don't even know how I got here, or why the hell I have to be Bella Swan. I want to go  _home,_ " she whispered and she closed her eyes tightly, not even wanting to see the evidence that she was in a place she shouldn't be, "Oh God Miriam I'm so scared. But I need you. I need you to go through the book again. I need to know when shit will happen. I need to prepare so that I  _can_ come home."

Miriam was silent. For a brief second, she thought the worst. That her sister thought the worst of her and that she would be alone in her quest to figure shit out- But if anything, Miriam Calderon took care of her little sister:

"I got you, fam," she said softly, "I'm not sure if I believe you, but… But you need me?"

Laurena smiled, tears in her eyes again.

"I always need you Miriam. Always."


	4. Chapter 4

The problem, Lauren found out, about stepping into Bella Swan's shoes, is that those were woefully inadequate for Forks weather. While she appreciated some aspects of Bella Swan being so bland that she could build off of her wardrobe to feel more comfortable in whatever the hell sort of place she had somehow found herself, Lauren was more or less more upset on how much money that she would have to spend, it wasn't her's, really, but she was a college student damn it.

Frugality was the name of survival.

But well, it was still somewhat mortifying now, despite the access to a ridiculous amount of money($4, 539. 69) to be stealing from a seventeen-year-old. Not her best moment but she would cite it as duress, so she justified taking it. She 'was' Bella Swan in a way, so it sort of wasn't stealing, even if it still felt icky to go through with it. Now, Friday, three days before the new semester of high school( _oh what horror_ ), she was rifling through a large discount outlet shop in Port Angeles while Charlie explored a fishing shop across the street. She had already nabbed new underwear, socks, thermal tights and bras in her cart(screw wearing Bella's, she could stomach the bras and possibly the socks but not the underwear that had gone on long enough) and now she was trying to find some decent pants.

The problem with 2005, she thought as she pushed pants after pants away, was that everything was light denim track pants and made have her had vivid flashbacks to childhood days of long braids and terrifyingly matching track suits with her sister Miriam; they didn't even look alike, Miriam was tall and Lauren was short, Miriam was dark skinned and Lauren was fair as can be, she had icy gray eyes and Miriam had warm brown eyes, dark black hair to Lauren's own light brown(she had even been blonde as a baby), but their mother insisted on Twining them as kids. She nearly fist pumped when she found a pair of black skinny jeans that were obviously meant for punks or something like that( _Thank God for Avril Lavigne_ ). Lauren loved black anyway, in her middle school years, punk and emo had ruled the trends of popular culture and it reflected in Lauren more than she cared to admit, even as she tried to have a bit more mature wardrobe.

She cheered when she saw it was in her size and tossed it with the few other pants in the skinny fashion, as well as a few pairs of 'mama' jeans she planned to cut off the bell buttons and others into some shorts. She was nearly done and at the prices at clearly unpopular things, she was making a steal. Much as it would easier to blend into 2005 if she followed the vague trends she remembered being prevalent when she was a kid, she rather screw that and dresses in a way that would make her 'stay' in Forks comfortable. Her phone vibrated, and she looked around her, keeping an eye on the gaggle of girls by the dress sections a few rows over, the only other people in the store other than the bored looking cashier.

_Miri:_ _Send a picture of the monstrosity that is 2005!_

Lauren smiled and quickly snapped a picture of a particularly odd jacket that was fuzzy and bright yellow and sent it to her sister. She had vivid images of the Spice Girls just looking at it.

_Me:_ _Can you believe all this? I feel like I've been sent to a Britney Spears music video. And I mean pre-shaved head days…. Wait has that happened yet?_

_Miri:_ _According to Google, no. That's in 2007._

Lauren sighed, rubbing her temples at the slight temporal implications. _I miss 2016_ , she mused and considering how craptastic that year had been for her personally, she hated the feeling of being displaced in a time where she had been more worried whether or not she could nab the swings or a jump rope before everyone else at recess.

_Me:_ _I don't know what's weirder. The fact that I'm in the past or the fact that it involves Sparkly vampires. Do you think Edward is going to consider me his 'personal brand of heroin'?_

_Miri:_ _You mean his personal brand of delicious bacon? Geez, let's hope not._

_Me:_ _Your encouragement is all I ever need, Miriam._

_Miri:_ _Sassy sarcasm noted._

_Me:_ _Jerk._

_Miri:_ _Bitch._

"Hey!" called out a girl and Lauren looked up from her phone, startled.

She had hoped that she would be able to go unnoticed, she thought with a hesitant smile. Quickly and in a way she hoped was subtle, she stuffed her phone into her pant's butt pocket.

"Hi," she said and tried to ignore how her heart was beating fast, maybe it was a reflex of being a recluse or being constantly on alert in public. She flinched slightly at the softness of her voice and waved to cover it in case they hadn't heard her.

The girls were all staring at her, which immediately made Lauren shift nervously foot to foot. The one that had spoken was blonde, with frosted eye shadow around her pale green eyes and pink lips and she had a large pink parka that matched her lips perfectly:  _fashionista looks really like a young Britney._  Her two friends, brunettes didn't match her at all, at least according to  _Means Girls_ , which was Lauren's closest experience to high school girls in 2000s. The tallest girl was wearing overalls and had her long hair pushed back via a plain black band and the other girl was wearing a weird mixture of hip hop clothes(neon orange) that Lauren remembered being a thing.

"Yeah, sorry, I hate to bother you, but my two friends are so not in agreement to what dress I should choose, could you help us?" asked the girl, perfectly pleasant. Her hand was on her hip, stance wide and eyes demanding that she did as she asked.

 _Okay, Britney is alpha queen bee. Also, her friend's really tall, like six feet tall_ , thought Lauren, smiling as she nodded and rolled her cart towards them. The fact that she was more or less petite had made her very conscious of people like that, having to look up to talk them, the only one that was near her height was the other brunette girl that was quickly looking her up and down, with wild curly hair bouncing in a floppy ponytail ( _scrunchie_ , she thought with an internal snort,  _so Lizzie Mcguire_ ). She stopped a little away from them.

"What's the occasion?"

The blonde girl beamed;

"Six month anniversary with my boyfriend. He's taking me to see the space needle and for fancy dinner in Seattle!" she gushed and while she wasn't bubbly, per say, Lauren saw a sort of pleasant flush in her face and an enthusiasm that only high school girls seemed to have in relationships.

"Congratulations," she said and smiled at her, before looking at the selection of dresses in her cart.

All three girls waited for her, politely, and she settled easily on the dress:

"Try this one," she touched this warm looking velvet affair that was a soft gray, "Wear some good eye shadow to emphasize your eyes and some tights to keep warm, and some cute shoes."

"Isn't it too simple?" asked the shorter girl, frowning, "I mean, you could wear this to church."

Lauren shrugged.

"Why go flashy? She's pretty enough to go simple."

The blonde girl blinked and got soft pink. She smirked and wiggled her brows at her friend.

"Yeah, Jess, I'm pretty enough for simple," said the blonde girl, which, Lauren, thought, in a slight blink, was the girl in  _Twilight_  that shared her name. Her tone is haughty and yeah a little bitchy, but Lauren had long learned that all girls had a minuscule amount of bitch to them, no matter how kind.

 _Well, hi Lauren Mallory, Jessica… Jessica something. Yeah, I can't remember her name_.  _I'm not even sure if they say it in canon._

"It suits her skin tone," muttered the taller girl, which, thought Lauren, must be Angela Weber.

 _What the frack, I justed wanted clothes so I didn't freeze my bits off_.  _I do not need to meet more book characters_.

"I'm Lauren," said the blonde, turning to her again, "Thanks so much for your help-"

"Izzy," she supplied and gave a faint smile.

She waved goodbye to the girls after the other two introduced themselves, confirming themselves to be Jessica and Angela respectively and went onward in her search through the dresses to add to her wardrobe before she went off to the shoes. After purchasing, she noticed with amusement that the girls were at the front of the store, seemingly debating something heatedly.

"Izzy!" called out Lauren Mallory, hands on her hip, her own bag hanging from the crook of her arm.

Lauren smiled at her and nodded, arms full of purchases.

"I noticed you were buying a lot," the girl flips her long sheet of beautiful blonde hair behind her shoulder, "Want any help?"

Lauren grins.

"Yeah, actually. Help me drag this to my truck, please?"

The girls, including a not so happy, Jessica grab most of her numerous bags.

"God, I wish I could buy so much at once," said Jessica, frowning. She had said this brightly, but Lauren could tell the passive-aggressiveness for what it was.

She felt her lips curl, not so nicely.

"I wish I didn't have to buy so much. But I just moved near here recently, and I did not prepare for the weather," responded Lauren and she tried to keep the bitterness out of her tone.

Angela Weber was apparently very quick. She hitched one of her bags higher on her shoulder.

"Izzy wouldn't be short for Isabella, as in Isabella Swan?" she said, and her voice was softly sweet.

Lauren gave her a grin.  _No, it isn't but I have a role to play._

"Apparently so, let me guess, Charlie, announced the arrival of his daughter to all of Forks?"

Jessica's eyes sparked in interest. She purses pale plum lips which clashed horrendously well with her orange sportswear:

"There are no secrets in Forks. He babbled straight since before Christmas," she said and while it wasn't malice per say, her voice wasn't exactly kind either.

"I thought it was sweet," said Angela.

Lauren sighed.

"Sounds like Charlie," she said evenly, slightly exasperated really, even if it was very man was such a devoted father that it made her wonder why he had let Renee take Bella in the first place, considering she was supposed to be such a harebrained and scattered brain person that she forgot bills and to fill her own car regularly.

_80s custody laws favoring moms maybe? Or is Bella Swan full of shit?_

"Hmmm. Yeah well, he always talked about you anyway, you know? His honor student daughter," claimed Lauren Mallory, smirking with her pastel pink lips, "Yammered on at the dinner anytime someone would ask."

They made it to her truck which Lauren opened and stuffed all her purchases, along with her previous ones, in the cab, behind the passenger's side. She did not want everything getting wet on the way home.

"Gosh what a tank," said Angela softly, blinking at the rounded fenders of the faded, rusty red truck.

"Isn't the Crushinator beautiful?" cooed Lauren in response, patting the truck fondly.

She had never owned her own car, had tentatively had a driver's license for only emergencies and relied on the cheaper alternative to ride the bus for most occasions. The fact that 'Crushinator' was her's made her adore it, crappy tank mileage aside and engine like a beast. It was all part of the charm and the fact that she had access to a car to possibly run away with. Fuck Bella and her ungratefulness over the car 'Wow. Free' indeed. Every chance she got she was thanking Charlie over it, much to the older man's embarrassment.

"The 'Crushinator'?" asked Jessica and she was blinking rapidly at her, a confused look on her face.

 _Trust dorky sci-fi cartoon references to go over most people's head_.

"She's made out of steel, not plastic. Anything hits this baby that's newer than 1990 and it's the Crushinator's bitch. Cause she's a class act and all."

"It's an ugly hunk of rust," pointed out Lauren Mallory, rolling her eyes at her enthusiasm.

"The Crushinator laughs at your petty forms of ridicule."

"You're strange," said Jessica, frowning at her cheerful manner.

Two years out of high school and its melodramatic ways(though really, that never changed), a passing of a parent had little to do to alleviate her social anxiety, but Lauren had always been good at giving a good presentation before crumpling when she was alone. Fake it or book it, was a philosophy she lived by. Humor also helped her deflect a lot, and while she wasn't particularly nervous talking to three literary characters in high school, as she was much more worried about the vampires in the school then the humans, because she had replaced Bella Swan and Bella Swan smelled delicious, so if the trend followed, so would Lauren. Hell, one would especially want to eat her. Yeah, she was very much more nervous over that. But these girls? Bitchy high school girls? Yeah, been there, done that.

"You have no idea, Jess was it?"

"Yeah. I introduced myself like five seconds ago."

"I'm terrible with names..." she said bluntly, running a hand absently through her short cropped hair, "Hey, do you guys know if there's an art store around here, by the way?"

"There's one by the bookstore by the end of the boardwalk," said Jessica, brows furrowed.

"Sweet. Two birds with one stone. I guess I'll see you guys at school?" she asked, locking up her truck.

Angela smiled and nodded shyly.

"See you on Monday, then, Izzy," said Lauren Mallory, smiling brightly.

"Yeah, Monday," said Jessica.

Lauren smiled and gave a brief wave before she went towards the fishing shop. Charlie was in an avid discussion with a clerk and while Lauren hated to be rude, she was in a hurry so she and Charlie could make a grocery run before dark. She hated driving in the dark.

"Charlie, I'm going to the bookstore and art store down the street," she said pleasantly.

The Police Cheif nodded to her and she went on her merry way. It was a nice day she reflected. It wasn't too bad cold wise, roughly forty degrees, with hardly a wind to make her life miserable. The art store was dismally small once she got there, with mostly painting supplies, something that Lauren could never get a real sense of, which most people found confusing for a fine arts major. She gravitated towards the sketchbooks and paper, picking up a basket and grabbing at many things. She may be in Bella Swan's life, she mused as she squinted at the charcoal and pastels, but fuck if she wouldn't keep up her passions.

"Do you need any help?" asked a cheerful older man, hands splattered in paint.

She smiled at him. Even from a distance, he smelled like turpentine, that permeated from him. She had found a good place, she thought, despite the lackluster selection.

"No. But thank you. By the way, you should get used to my face. You're going to be seeing me a lot. I'm Izzy."

"James, James Garner."

She smiled with a slight happy twist to her lips.

"Nice to meet you."

She bought too much. Way too much, as she always did when she went to the art store, buying well worth over two hundred dollars, despite the limited selection, but she chalked it down to the fact that it was because she didn't even have any good base for her work. She mostly bought in bulk and for long-term, and still had supplies from when she was in middle school. Her supplies were wonderful and she was careful and here in Twi-world, she had nothing.

The bookstore that Bella had dismissed in Twilight was larger than it looked on the street, and the scent of some burning incense was pleasant to Lauren. It was a bit new age-y, with crystals and dream catchers in the window, but it did have a great selection. Of which, Lauren made sure to take good advantage of, grabbing books she recognized and some she didn't. Six Harry Potter books were in her gleeful arms(she had the ebooks but hey, she sighed  _liked_  the feel of a book in her arms, and her phone magically died around people, anyway), already loaded with other things and more books. The older woman running the shop was shocked at the huge stack, blinking as she scanned book after book.

"Have everything you need, dear?" asked the woman, ringing up her purchases.

Lauren smiled and repeated what she had said to the art store clerk:

"Yes, thank you. But expect to see me very often here. I'm Izzy."

The woman smiled.

"I'm Ava White, are you a big reader, hon?"

"Yes. While I might not buy so many in one go, I will buy if you switch up inventory often."

Her smile turned into a beaming one.

"Then I look forward to seeing you here. Blessed be," she hummed.

Lauren recognized the Wiccan greeting and farewell and smiled at the reminder of her own Wiccan days, of tarot cards and burning sage to clear the house of evil vibrations. Her mom had thrown such a fit at the smell, as well as her refusal to go to church and over time she had lessened her own Wiccan practices because of the lack of time and overall, the shift in her recent life. Didn't mean she didn't occasionally have a crystal or two with her. It was more about positive thinking and clearing her mind that worked for her and while it felt sometimes silly, it was had had a positive influence in her life.

"Blessed be," she responded with a wink. The older woman smiled again, wider, dark eyes sparkling and waved her from the shop.

All said and done, she was roughly five hundred dollars shorter, which ate at her but she soothed herself in the fact that she nearly had four thousand bucks to run away if she had too. That could get her to Italy, or even last her a couple of weeks on the road... Waiting on Charlie she popped in her new earbuds and then nabbed a toned sketchbook and some Prismacolor pencils to pass the time.

He came twenty minutes later, smiling and arm with only one bag. She opened the door, popping out her newly purchase earbuds and glad that her phone was in her butt pocket. She smiled at him, tapping her feet against the dashboard.

"Did you get enough?" he asked, sliding into her truck, hands out. She passed over the keys easily and buckled up and rolled her eyes at his exasperated lit to his voice at the sight of the bags stacked behind the seat.

"The sarcasm in your tone is noted. Now get us to a Supermarket, Chief, I'm tired of take-out."

He rolled his eyes and started the roar of the truck. She had refused to drive in an unknown area. And her GPS on her phone was worthless, as it stated she was currently nowhere. It was an hour drive back to Forks, in relative silence, with Charlie mentioning a thing here or there, distracting Lauren away from the first Harry Potter book, which she had fished from behind her once he had started the golden oldy station. She smiled at him, followed his small talk and just kept reading. The supermarket was relatively big for a small town, it even had a butcher in the back, which was pretty cool.

"Izzy, I'm not so sure, I really don't have time to cook-"

"I can throw shit together, Chief," she replied, barely managing to hold her rolling eyes.

She snagged a cart, list in hand. She liked lists. Lists stopped her from buying a cartful of ice-cream she didn't need. Even if it was on the list. She wondered if the Seattle area had Ben and Jerry's in 2005.

"Isabella Marie Swan," he said and that time Lauren did roll her eyes.

_For fucks sake I'm nearly twenty. Am twenty? I left in November 2016 at least, and according to Miriam a couple months have passed, so I should be twenty now if it's 2017 in My world... I can swear. Hell, at seventeen I was a worse potty mouth._

She didn't swear as often as she once did. But she did swear, her baby face aside. Innocence and innocence looking had a clear distinction. She carefully measured the tomatoes as she placed them into the plastic sack.

"Sorry. I thought references to excrement were okay," she said, and she smiled a little sheepishly. It was both jarring and annoying to suddenly be thrown into a teenager's place, "I can cook, Charlie. Very well in fact."

A couple weeks ago Charlie would've been more or less her equal, not an authority figure, cop status aside. Sure she was still a kid in many ways but she paid taxes and bills and everything. She should have at least the ability to say a 'naughty' word on occasion in comparison to the forty-one-year-old man. She moved onto the fruit, eyes careful as she inspected late-season apples against out of season oranges.

"No. Ladies don't use foul language."

She smirked and looked over her shoulder at the taller man.

"Then I won't reference birds?"

Charlie blinked, pursed his lips.

"When did you become such a smartass?" he was smirking himself and briefly, Lauren saw the bit of the man beneath the 'mustached-dad'.

The man she could easily see herself becoming friends with in her exile in Twi- world. He was easily one of the best things here.

"Ah, ah, ladies don't use such language."

He snorted.

"I'm no lady."

"Charlie, you're the prettiest Lady with the best mustache."

He smiled, a chuckle escaping his lips.

"Well, I won't say no to the last one-"

"Oh, excuse me, dear!" said a voice after a thud rang out through Lauren's arms. She swore her teeth chattered at the force. The voice was unmistakable, high, sweet like a nightingale.

Chills went down Laurens spine as she turned to the second Culled she had the misfortune to meet, the matriarch, Esme.  _Well_ , she thought with a blink, _She is gorgeous… In an uncanny valley kinda way._ Esme Cullen was as beautiful and pale as her husband, with dark, caramel color hair, and those intense, yellow eyes. Not golden, no, Bella Swan knew nothing about colors. As an Arts Major, she knew color and Topaz did not qualify as 'gold' it was _yellow_. Her features were perfect, separated, but together they were almost awkward- not quite right. She was taller than Lauren and just as her husband, she blinked, moved and breathed at a rhythm that was almost natural.

Almost.

She didn't quite remind Lauren of Snow White(where the hell Bella had gotten that, she didn't know) but she did have a sort of softness that her husband didn't have, which she figured from the fact that she had recently had a baby when she was turned. She was smiling, closed mouthed, thankfully, dimples in her round cheeks. She had small features, large, luminous eyes, from what Lauren could see. though, Bella's perception of her looking like a silent film star was spot on. She had the same sort of dew beauty of Fay Wray. Vaguely, Lauren had recollections of  _Metropolis_  and  _A Trip to the Moon_. Of  _King Kong_ and Helen Grovner of  _The Mummy_ , circa 1939. Lauren did love her old movies.

She pursed her lips, knowing damn sure that she hadn't accidentally bumped into her. Vampire senses and all. _That means she wants to speak to me in particular. Fuck._ Lauren had apparently caught the attention of the vampire family already.  _Fuck. Fuckty fuck, fuck. Chinga me o coja me._

"Mrs. Cullen," Charlie's voice was warm, pleasant and a little flustered, "Don't apologize, it's my fault for distracting Izzy."

Esme shook her head:

"Oh, Chief Swan, I have asked you to call me Esme. And I wasn't looking either, the blame lies with me as well," she brightened, turned to Lauren with a wider smile, "Oh, Isabella, I've heard so much about you. I was terribly frightened when Carlisle explained to me of your ordeal in the woods. You must be careful, dear."

Lauren had an urge to scowl at the tone Esme had adopted, chiding and parental.  _I'm an adult,_ she internally seethed at the patronizing. She had actually been behaving very naturally and logically considering she had thought she had been kidnapped. But, she thought with a forced smile, it wasn't as if she could scream it at the Vampire woman. As much as it would make her feel better.

"I just got a little turned around. I don't really plan on going back to the woods so soon without being prepared," the fact that Esme's surrogate children, herself and her husband were running around in the woods feeding more or less axed any of Lauren's enjoyment of the beauty of the woods or the urge to walk in them.

She liked breathing and she didn't know if she smelled as sweet as Bacon to this gaggle of vampires, but she rather not risk it. In what she remembered of canon, it didn't matter to most vampires anyway. Blood was blood.

"That's wonderful, dear. I'm so pleased that you are so decisive! If you need any advice on hiking, do feel free to ask. I may not look it, but I adore it myself. I'm quite the outdoors woman," something in Lauren eased at that, at the actual somewhat thoughtful offer.

Lauren had remembered liking Esme, once upon a time. She hadn't been in much of the books, but the scene in which she was talking to Bella in the baseball clearing had been honest and blunt to the basics of the lost of her only biological child. That had been brave and showed a lot about Esme, if briefly. She had been matter of fact of her suffering of her tragic loss of her only biological child. Yes, the woman in initial treatment felt patronizing and the fact that the woman across from her had eaten people really did freak Lauren out, but, well, being rude to a vampire was a stupid idea anyway.

"Thank you, Ma'am, but I'm not really much of a hiker. I was just curious about the woods, they looked so different from what I'm used too," Lauren was careful to not mention specifics. She was a more or less skilled liar, but she always felt that the truth was mostly easier to deal with and keeping it vague was her best bet at the moment.

"Ah, yes, Phoenix, it must be such a vivid change in comparison to Forks."

Lauren had been to Phoenix, many times in her life, back when she was small and her parents had decided to take that route on the way to Mexico when the Tijuana route was too dangerous. She had even spent a spring break there, back before their move to Texas, when her parents had debated moving to the sprawling city in the desert. But that was back when she was nine,  _which would be the March of next year in this place if I exist in this Universe,_  so, really, she didn't remember or know too many details. But she could say this much:

"The climate is so much nicer here," she said and she smiled at that. Seriously, it had yet to go over fifty degrees and Lauren loved it.

Esme's carefully smiling face flickered surprise, her small dainty mouth popping open slightly and her nicely arched eyebrows lifted.

"You like the cold?"

"Ma'am, after being in the Valley of the Sun, you relish the cold."

Esme smiled.

"Oh, call me Esme, Isabella, dear."

Lauren found herself smiling, slightly:

"Call me, Izzy. Esme," she made sure to pronounce the name carefully, as until her sister had so gleefully corrected her, Lauren had read it in her head as 'Eh-sm', instead of 'Es-may'.

"I would adore that, Izzy," her tone was warm and yeah, Lauren could feel the motherly-ness pouring from the older woman. She had an ache for her own mother, for her arms and the smell of the powder that Lauren had gotten her for Valentine's day, the same brand her Abuelita had used when she was alive.

The fact that she was only a few years physically older than Lauren made her feel very sad in that moment, especially the fact that she had taken her own life over the loss of her son. She wondered if Esme had ever resented Carlisle for not letting her join her son. She blinks at her smile, at the stillness and otherness that she excludes, this young woman of twenty-six that had just wanted to escape her abusive husband and found eternal life instead, one with her baby dead and buried.

"If you need anything at school, please feel free to ask my children. I have two girls and three boys. Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper are seniors, but Alice and Edward are juniors as well," the woman said, smiling brighter at the mention of them, she particularly glows at it, "They are a little reserved, but they will help you adjust if they can."

Lauren shivered at the mention of Esme's children, at the members of her coven. Or really, one in particular. She wasn't sure how she felt at the prospect of Edward Cullen, but the fact that she had filled Bella's place seamlessly so far didn't exactly endear her to the thought of meeting the sparkly boy. She really hoped her blood didn't 'sing' to him. She liked her blood. A positive, not blood donor material because she went to Mexico recently, but hey, it kept her going. Nonetheless, Lauren wasn't so rude to not see the kind gesture:

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind. But, I'm pretty good at working things out, but I won't be averse to saying Hi."

And she wasn't really, not completely. Yeah, she sure as hell didn't want to be lusted after for her blood, but part of her was fascinated at the prospect of speaking to…. Well, all of them. She didn't like that she was in the Twilight universe or wherever the hell she was but they all had lived through at least eight decades(both Carlisle and Jasper had centuries behind them, three and two respectively) and through periods of history that were fascinating. And she was somewhat morbidly curious on some level, even if she was intent on steering clear of the family in the long run.

She was banking on the fact that they seemed to be haughty assholes in the books over interacting with humans. Why they went through the charade of high school was beyond Lauren, especially if they didn't partake in social things. From what Lauren could see, Carlisle and Esme were the only ones that actually bothered to interact with people, at least until now, so she had no idea why the four vampires bothered with school and didn't just stay home and pursue other things. It wasn't as if they had to be seen anyway, or really, even were seen outside of school. If Esme and Carlisle moved and presented themselves at any given location as a newlywed couple with no one else, they wouldn't have to move as much. And if one of the younger members of the coven were spotted, they would say that they were visiting cousin or drifters or something.

"That's wonderful dear," here, Esme's lovely brows furrowed, and she had a look of mild distress, "They never try to make friends and I wish they would."

 _Color me surprised,_ thought Lauren.  _Maybe the high school is Carlisle's effort to further humanize his progeny?_

"Well, Esme, if they're anti-social, they're anti-social. I won't push them. Now, if you excuse us, the Chief and I have to get some things so we can eat something other than dinner food or pizza."

Charlie blushed, bless him, as Esme laughed.

"Certainly, I just wanted to say Hello and make sure you were well. Welcome to Forks, Izzy, dear."

With that, the vampire walked off, movements smooth and trotting away in her little kitten heels and with a swish of her lovely patterned skirt. Charlie sighed, wistfully.

"Doctor Cullen was lucky when he met her," he said softly.

Lauren blinked.

"Charlie, are you lusting after a married woman?"

The sputtering Chief of Police turned an interesting shade of red.

"Izzy!"

She smirked.

"Hey, she was gorgeous and really nice in a Suzy-homemaker kinda way, I get it. You're an adult male and all. It happens."

Charlie stared at her, while Lauren simply nabbed some onions.

"You're treating me a little casually, Izzy. I am your father," and his voice was firmer, the reprimand clear.

_No. No, you're not._

Lauren turned to the fictional, literary character, closing the plastic bag of onions and throwing it violently into the shopping cart. _I am a hot-blooded Latina._ He was real and a real full-blooded person to her now, as horrifying and startling as that was, she had to deal with it. He also was a stranger that thought she was his daughter. She wasn't treating him as a father, nor an authority figure. And she refused to even if she liked the man. As far as she was concerned, he was a roommate that she had never agreed with. She placed her hands on her hips and licked her lips.

"Charlie, you really haven't had a say in my life. You didn't raise me, you don't really know me, " she said bluntly, and she felt bad as she saw him flinch, however, she was going to say her piece damn it she was a grown woman and she was not going to be cowed more than she was naturally inclined to do, "But, I'm here, in Forks with you and I'm living with you. You have to look at it from my perspective. This is new and hard for me, and I'm pretty set in my ways. I'm not going to temper myself for you, this is me, and this is what you're getting. If you don't like it, call Renee and ship me off to Phoenix."

His face was heartbreaking, really, his eyes watering.  _Why do I have to hurt this poor man? Fuck you, Bella Swan, for not being here. Fuck me for being here. Charlie doesn't deserve this._

"It wasn't for a lack of trying, Isabella. I wanted to be a part of your life. I still want too. How can I send you to Phoenix if I just got you back?" his voice was thick.

Lauren remembers that bit, an echo of what Bella had said when had she trashed on Charlie by saying the words of his ex-wife when she had left him. She sighs, feeling horrible as she rubs at her forehead.

"Good. Charlie, that's wonderful. Now, I'm sorry if I'm not acting like a daughter," he stared at her in surprise, but she wasn't done, not yet, "I can't behave in any other way. You're a stranger, one I respect and certainly like, but a stranger. Can we be, if not father and daughter, friends?"

He didn't respond, brows furrowed and frowning at her. Lauren sighed.

"Think about it, come on, let's finish shopping, we need to get back to the house so you can catch that game you mentioned."

Charlie was silent and followed her as she went to the next item on her list, going until they were outside, rolling out with their purchases. It was evening already, sunset. Twilight as Bella so pretentiously said so many times.

_Eventide._

Lauren liked that word better. It made her think of classical novels and gothic ones, mysterious and grand. She wasn't that type of person but she did have an extensive loaded the truck, and this time, Lauren took the wheel. She was a shaky driver at best. Last she had driven she had been sleep deprived, in a hurry and in her friend's car. She may have driven over things that weren't meant to be driven, but she hadn't wrecked the car at least. The Crushinator could take her questionable driving skills. It was when Lauren started the truck, that Charlie spoke:

"Isabella," he started, and his voice was a little clearer, less rough, "I… I know I haven't been in your life. But I can be now. Please, let be in it. In whichever way- I'm sorry if I overstepped my-"

"You didn't Charlie," she interrupted and she sighed at the road as she went along, "I understand that you want to be my father. I respect your effort. I know why you doing it, and I adore you for that."

She did. It was sweet, said a lot about his character.

"But you don't need a father," his voice was sad.

Lauren thought of her dad. Of her wonderful, tragically dead dad.

"I do. I really want  _my_  Dad. He's dead. Died last March," it was easier to say it. Horribly easier to say it now.

Didn't mean it didn't hurt. She couldn't stop the heat or the onslaught of tears in her eyes. But she refused to let them drop.

"What?"

"He was a father to me. His kids are my brother and sister, and his wife was more if a mother than Renee," she looked over at him and smiled sadly before she turned back to the road. It was the closest to the truth that she could say.

He didn't say anything, startled no doubt. The only sound was the sound of the loud engine, the heater and the faint whistle of the wind through the window that didn't roll up all the way.

"The bacon, you said-"

"He had heart problems. Well, at first. Then it was the strokes too. Diabetes. He was sixty-four years old when his LVAD* got a blood clot. They had to replace it. The surgery went perfectly, that's what the Doctors said. He got a blood infection. He was weak from the surgery. But, hey, he was a tough ol' bastard," she laughed aloud at saying that, she had loved her father to bits, but sometimes he could be so backward and an  _asshole_ ," He was so strong. So strong. Even towards the end he had such a strong grip, could pull me easily across a room with his good arm. It was six months before he finally… Couldn't fight it."

"Oh God, Izzy. I-"

"You didn't know. Renee doesn't know. That's okay. He fought his sickness tooth and nail, kicking and screaming all the way. I was ten when he first got sick. When he went to the hospital after his surgery due to some 'minor' complications, I sort of knew it was going to happen. A feeling that it was his last time going into the hospital."

"That's why you're in Forks. You wanted a change. Why didn't you tell anyone?!" he exclaimed.

Lauren blinked. Even she didn't know why she was in Forks. But hey. In for a penny, out for a pound. _It's a better explanation then, hey, I'm not your daughter. Not even in a biological. My name is Lauren. I'm a Mexican-American college student that woke up in Bella's place. Can I still live in your house until I figure out how to get home?_

"Because it was too much. I didn't want to talk about it nor dwell on it. But I can dwell on it. It get's so much easier that it's sad. I want to be sad all the time, I feel like I should. He was my father for fuck's sake. But I can't. That's not how life works."

She parked her truck on the curve next to the Swan house and turned to the stunned Chief of Police.

"I really know nothing about you," and Charlie sounded so sad.

"Hey, Chief, you know my favorite pizza. You know I have a brother and a sister. You know that I'm short and swear a bit more than I should. Everything else comes with time."

He stared at her, blinking rapidly.

"Time. We have that," he said, slowly, and he cracked a smile for the first time in a while.

Lauren smiled and stuck out her hand. Charlie took it. He had a strong grip, firm and easy shake.

"Friends?" she asked and he nodded.

"Friends."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Twilight. It all belongs to its author, publishing company, etc.
> 
> This is me playing in its sandbox, making misshapen sandcastles.
> 
> Edited: 1 January 2017
> 
> Holy fudge balls this was a long chapter. I meant to stop after Esme came in, but whoah, that did not happen. As I was writing it more or less became apparent to me that my big mouth would get me in trouble with Charlie, and well, since Lauren is essentially me, that last bit happened. I would not take to being treated like a minor well. At all. I think I'm fairly mature despite being as young as I am(20 now), and I am, as I so ardently pointed out, an adult. And Charlie would most likely want some semblance of parental respect from me, but hey, not going to happen. I don't need a replacement father, but, a roommate I could handle a little better.
> 
> I hope you like my characterization of both Esme and the Lauren M., Jessica and Angela. And of course, Charlie. The girls were fairly easy to write, I mean, I was friends with the 'popular' girls in high school, but more of a happenstance of fate, we were in all the same classes in middle school, and kept being friends for the same reason. I didn't keep up with them much after high school, but I got that somewhat bitchy tone down from them. I think Lauren M. is more than a bitch(By the by, her boyfriend in this is Tyler Crowley, and according to Meyer they did date in sophomore year, so I just carried it over to explain even further why Lauren M. hated Bella), and Bella does not describe her classmates enough for them to be too OC. They didn't have characterization further than the small mentions on Bella's part, and I think Lauren M. is only mentioned like five times total in the entire series. Jessica was a bit more fleshed out, but from what I remember, she was bubbly, but also fairly jealous. Lauren is buying a bunch of clothes, and Jessica's opinion over clothes is being stream rolled by Lauren's. Petty, sure, but that fits with her thoughts when it comes to Midnight Sun. plus, hey, here's a stranger coming in into her territory, and no one is around to see how she's acting. Angela's... Nice. And Shy. And Quiet. That's what I got from her. Boring too. But, we can change that as we go.
> 
> Esme is a mothering type. Mothering types tend to be condescending and patronizing. However kind. Plus. She kinda has eaten people. That is fucking disturbing no matter how kind.
> 
> Charlie... Oh, Awesome mustache-Dad, the poor guy. Bella is a bitch to him. Flatly, bluntly said, she is a bitch. She sneaks a boy into her room behind his back, resents him for treating her you know, like the fucking child she is, and she is unnecessarily cruel. She could have said so many things to him other that 'Just let me go, Charlie' to get away. 'Hey, the Cullens' have invited me to go to California for Spring Break'. 'Alice wants to have a week-long sleepover at her house', 'I'm running away to joining a Mariachi band' anything but stabbing him in the gut with those words. Anyway, in my head, I see the guy that played Charlie in the movies when I'm speaking to Charlie. God that man was so cool. He cocked a gun when his daughter mentions a boy. I nearly peed my pants at that.
> 
> *1 An LVAD is a type of heart pump, it's helped a failing heart. My dad had one, he was a motherfucking Cyborg, like the boss he was. He had batteries and everything. It was kinda gross in a sense because I had to clean the entry part of the electric tubing coming out of his body, but eh, I got used to it. I was a frequent nurse for my dad because I was the least busiest of my siblings.


	5. Typical Teenage Problems Like the Worry Of Being Eaten By One Of Your Classmates

' _First Sight Part I'_

" _This can't go on I must inform the law, can this still be real or just some crazy dream?But I feel drawn towards the chanting hordes, they seem to mesmerize, can't avoid their eyes. Six! Six! Six! The number of the beast," The Number of the Beast, Iron Maiden (1982)_

The morning of Lauren's first day returning to high school was not a good one. Generally, Lauren and mornings did not get along period. She was an insomniac, or a night owl if you will(she rather describe it as being a permanently exhausted pigeon but since that wasn't the saying, a chingada owl she was), ever since she had been a child. It wasn't so bad, wasn't severe, it was just some nights, maybe four out of seven a week, she would lay in bed, the noise of her T.V. soft and trying to be soothing, the dark of the room creeping up on her and her thoughts, whirling and looping. Or maybe it was too hot, too cold, her pillows felt flat. She couldn't get comfortable on her side or her legs didn't feel right when they rested together.

All of that would build up to her not sleeping, no matter how heavy her eyes felt, no matter how much she wanted to sob at the fact that it was four in the morning and she had to get up at the latest, six o'clock. It was simply how her sleep cycle worked, most of the time, she would have a few weeks of constant, steady sleep of six to seven hours every night, have one night of not sleeping and it would carry out until she broke the cycle again. She had learned to live with it, avoided drugs because she hated how they made her feel the next day, groggy and hazy in the mind.

Lauren liked her mind clear, thank you very much.

The mornings were the worst though, whenever she had an insomniac bout. Everything about mornings bugged her whenever she had not slept well the night before. The bright light hurt her sensitive eyes, the humidity in the mornings in Texas was always killer and of course, the prospect of what she had to do with the coming day always ramped her anxiety up to the nth degree. Considering she had a habit of not sleeping well in general, especially when she was stressed, she was not in such a good mood, to begin with when she woke up to the blare of her alarm. Well, the one Charlie had put in the room for Bella. An annoying ready thing that snooze button apparently didn't _work_.

So bad start of the day right there.

Especially since she wanted to throw the damn thing across the room and into the wall, sleep the rest of the day and claim to Charlie she had legitimately overslept. But she didn't make a habit of breaking things that didn't belong to her and she didn't want to die today by throwing off how Bella had met Edward(she had already, somehow, fucked up the when- Bella started school on Tuesday the Eighteenth, not today, which was the Tenth of January, a Monday). She had tried to prepare. She had begged Charlie to show her the way, memorized the route on both foot(now that had been an adventure of walking along the highway like some crazy hitch-hiker, several cars had stopped and pulled over in concern, ah, the good of humanity) and car and purchased a map just in case on her way out of the grocery store. She had packed Bella's beat up backpack for school and staged a makeshift bug out stash in her truck just in case(sparkle-pyre universe, she would be prepared because otherwise, it could kill her).

If Edward didn't kill her straight off and if he reacted even more violently than he did to Bella, then Lauren was going to book it to the next plane to Italy, with a possible Wolfy escort if she could convince Sam. Or maybe even hole up in La Push if she was given permission. She was woefully unfamiliar with policies of visitors to reservations staying an extended of time but knew that Billy might make an exception for Charlie's daughter, even if Charlie and he weren't in the best of places at the moment. She had a vague inclination that they were estranged over Billy's reaction to the return of the Cullens.

"Water to last you a week?" chimed her sister's voice. It was slightly thick, no doubt with sleep since it was much earlier than normal for her and Lauren couldn't help but yawn in response to it. She rubbed her eyes, pinching them tightly together at how heavy they felt and rubbing at them absently with her hand.

It was near seven in the morning(she had a little over two hours to get to her first class, a small mercy, but she was running on about three hours of sleep), not really raining but looking like it wanted to, with Lauren standing outside by her truck, door open, a small notebook and checklist in hand, a thin, fleece hoody on, with booty shorts and flip flops, her phone perched on her passenger seat. She felt fairly comfortable in the about forty degree weather*. Lauren didn't flinch at the temperature despite her scantily attired body, she loved the cold after all. Her nickname in high school had been Sailor Popsicle, as she had worn skirts and shorts with non-thermal tights in twenty-degree weather.

"At least five gallons," Lauren said to her sister, who was on speaker. It was more than enough, even considering the fact that Lauren made sure to drink large amounts of water each day. She even had bought a large, one-liter water bottle to lug around school with her.

She checked behind in the boot of the truck, standing on her wheel and counting out the large jugs in the large cooler Charlie had had for fishing (he had mentioned that he had been meaning to get a new one, so she felt comfortable taking it), Miriam hummed, a soft familiar sound. Lauren would bet the Crushinator that Miriam had a similar checklist in hand, a world and some states away.

"Non-perishables?"

"Enough that Charlie thinks I'm planning a camping trip," she confirmed, touching them next to the water.

It had been funny really, browsing through the jerky and long lasting foods, watching a twitchy Charlie as she went about:

_"Izzy. You got lost in the woods just by walking," his tone had been exasperated and his lips had been pursued. She picked up some jerky, glancing at its shelf life, wrinkling her nose at all the salt inside the damn packet._

_They were on their second grocery run, as Lauren had decided to be the one to drive to and then back to get her bearings in Forks, it was Sunday and tomorrow she would be entering high school. Again. It was a small town, population-wise, but aside from the small downtown area everything was hugely spaced out and you needed a car unless you were a marathon runner to get around. Lauren walked everywhere, took public transportation regularly and knew the big difference from knowing your way around on foot and through the system than in the car, so she was determined to get comfortable with her Crushinator and just as familiar on foot, so she had taken on going on walks around town. She turned to Charlie, squinting at the Chief of Police and grinned._

" _You have a thing against beef jerky, Chief?"_

_He squints right back at her._

" _You hate bacon, but you like beef jerky?'_

_She shrugged._

" _Yeah. It's_ _ **cured**_ _meat. Not burnt."_

_He laughed, full belly. She giggled alongside him, grinning as she tossed a couple of the longest shelf-life into the basket. She had long been told that her lack of love of bacon was odd and her tolerance for beef jerky in contrast with her disgust with bacon._

" _You're something else, Iz."_

_She smiled, the casual mention of her nickname in this world finally sounding natural on the older man's tongue. She patted his arm in thanks and in comfort, noting with surprise that Charlie was kinda buff. It wasn't that obvious or to the point where he could bench her with one arm, and Lauren had long learned that Charlie was the master of a stiff uniform or oversized flannel shirts, hence hiding his apparently buffish body. She figures being Chief in such a small town demanded a better physique than what she had assumed. Point for the mustache Dad, she mused._

" _You know it, Chief!"_

"First aid kit?"

Lauren sighed.

"Prepared it myself."

She had been meticulous really and as a sister to a former nursing student, she had had that thing locked and prepped in less than ten minutes. She had nothing on Doctor Cullen's own personal arsenal, of course, but she was good enough as long as she didn't do anything too drastic. She wasn't as clumtasic( _spaztastic_ ) as Bella had claimed to be in the books, but she had been known to trip _up s_ tairs. And accidentally throw pencils at teachers, but the worst she had ever suffered or caused was a few broken plates and a small break in her arm near her wrist and she took pride in that.

_Even if I broke my arm tripping over a Goddamn football._

Her excuse was that she had been four at the time and less coordinated than she was now. The first aid kit was underneath the passenger seat, ready for whatever hurt her. As long as she could get to it at least.

"Money?"

"Most of it is in my glove compartment, which had a padlock," she had a few hundred dollars on her person, just in case. Some of it was tucked into her bra, some in her shoes(the ones she was going to wear to school) and some in her phone wallet. She rattled her keys, touching the key to the lock on her glove compartment.

If Lauren had had a penis, as well as her parents been more wealthy when she was a child, she knew she would have been a boss at the whole boy scout business.

"Good, the more secure that is, the better, " Miriam said and Lauren preened at the praise, swinging her keys that held her house, glove compartment lock and house keys again," Can of pepper spray and hairspray for your lighter?"

Lauren smirked and patted the cute leather purse she had found in the garage(more of a satchel really, she had a habit of humming the Indiana Jones theme to it whenever she rummaged through it).

"I can light anyone at ten feet. Always on me," she had tested it when Charlie hadn't been in his home, of course. She had doubled checked to have two travel sized hairsprays with her.

She was so happy that she had found a better alternative than her little matches(which were still in her truck). It wasn't a traditional lighter, but rather one of those meant for cook-outs, long nozzle, and simple trigger to start it. She could never get the hang of the thumb press ones. She kinda would have gone for an electric lighter that she favored whenever she did metalsmithing (Her kingdom for a gas torch), but out of outright buying a torch, she was stuck, as she didn't see how well Charlie would let that slide. She was tempted to buy at least a little kitchen one but knew better than to push it. Maybe if she could convince Charlie it was for Crème brûlée?

"Clothes?"

"Hidden behind the backseat," she said, slamming the cooler closed.

It was enough to last her for a couple of days and plenty of socks, bras, and underwear. All things that were comfortable on the run clothes; jeans, two dresses, shorts, and t-shirts. Lauren checked it off the list, seeing it was the last item.

"Lauren, you're all set."

The silence that fell on both of them was heavy and thick. Lauren licked her lips, fidgeting as she tossed the small notebook into the small basket she had placed into her truck(another garage find).

"I should go get showered and dressed," she said softly into her phone.

She tried to ignore the lump in her throat or the fact that felt her eyes watering.

"Yeah. I need to start getting ready for work."

Lauren swallowed.

"Miri, if I'm bacon-"

" _Lauren_."

"Seriously. Miriam if he drains me dry, I won't respond to you anymore. Declare me dead... And tell mom and Andrew that I love them ... Please?" her accent was thick, her heart was pounding and Lauren didn't want to  _die_.

But she really didn't have a choice, she rather follow the story and chase Edward away for a week and regroup with attempting to escape wherever the fuck she was then risking changing the story and get herself killed. So far, searching carefully around both a little into the woods and Charlie's house top to bottom had yielded no clue about why or how she was here. In the past few days, she had gone over the first novel and  _Midnight Sun_ , despite its dubious nature as perhaps non-canon and tried to map out both the Time-Line and Bella's behaviors to either mimic or avoid around the Cullens. Knowing the book was a good way to avoid the book, after all.

"Text me after every class," she demanded, firm and scratchy.

Lauren licked her lips again before she grabbed her chapstick from the small basket of essentials on the space between the passenger and driver's side (deodorant, tons of lotion, soap, shampoo, conditioner and five types of chapstick, it was the small things that kept her going) and smeared it on.

"Every class. Call me as soon as you're off at work and can get away from mom and Andrew."

Her sister's voice sounded throaty and hoarse:

"Don't you dare fucking die Lauren Isabel Calderon. If that dip-shit Bella can survive this encounter, so can you dammit. I love you."

"I love you, too."

With a loud sob, the line clicked off. Lauren stared at her phone, pressed her hands tightly into her watering eyes, before slipping out of her truck, locking it up tight and heading inside. She showered quickly for once in her life, scalding hot and she quickly rubbed her skin raw with Bella's strawberry scented(fairly nice brand) body wash going through the motions of washing her hair, shaving and didn't bother to dry her hair with Bella's large, clunky hair dryer. Lauren had never owned one and as she quickly changed, she noticed by the sound on the roof that it had started to rain. Opening the thick, heavy curtains she had installed the other day only confirmed this.

_No point then. It looks beautiful outside, though._

She got dressed with care, if this was her last day she would, as her one of her Aunts sometimes said,  _'Deja un curpo bonito,_ _niña_ _' or 'leave a beautiful corspe, girl'_ : choosing a black, long sleeve dress, black, slightly heeled boots that reached her calves, a black set of tights and a nice jacket that wasn't too thick, black as well. The black offset the robin's egg blue nail polish she had bought for a dollar on the way out of the grocery store. She looked into the mirror over the closet door, adjusting her bra strap and fussing with the way the dress fell over her stomach and checking twice to see that her well-endowed mammaries looked well in enough.

She looked…

Normalish, for her, well, the cut of the dress was all wrong- it didn't have that cute little flare that more modern skirts did, but it wasn't too long on her(curse her lack of height) and with a nice plain, nearly invisible black beaded design of roses, with a slight A-line skirt that hide her stomach well enough. In all, Lauren thought she looked fine, maybe a little punk or grunge in comparison to the pastels and bright colors the girls had been sporting in Port Angeles, but not grossly out of place in 2005. With her short, messily overgrown pixie cut she thought she could pass for an attempt at a Winona Ryder look(Or was she more eighties?). She wasn't that pale anymore, but with the constant gray outside she looked close enough.

She didn't even bother with any makeup, she had never been to make up oriented in her day to day (it wasn't that she didn't need it, even if Lauren had been blessed with dry, mostly clear skin, it was more that she was too lazy and didn't want to poke her eye out in an attempt of using eyeliner so early in the morning), especially to impress anyone, let alone for a bunch of teenagers. The meager amount that Bella had was the wrong color anyway, all pale and pastel eye shadow, a mascara and eyeliner that was not water-proof and no lipstick to speak of,  _talk about no._

She hitched her satchel on her shoulder and grabbed Bella's plain backpack. She met her own gray eyes in the mirror.

"You're not going to die. You are not just bacon," she whispered softly. Her face was pale but determined, she hoped, "My name is Lauren Isabel Calderon. I am not Isabella Marie Swan. I won't fall in love with Edward or get caught in the Vampire world. I'm going to figure a way out of this place and laugh this off when it ends."

She ignored the semi-permanent bags underneath the eyes that told her that her worries couldn't be dispelled by pretty words. A certain level of delusion was what she needed at the moment. She couldn't do much about the bags anyway. Even if she bothered, she needed a good corrector stick to even make a dent in the dark color(she knew this from many years of practice). With one last final adjustment to her dress and slightly damp hair, Lauren slathered on some more chapstick and left the house with her keys and cheap aviators in hand and no breakfast.

_The very thought makes me want to upchuck in Edward's sparkly face. I have lunch and snacks ready anyway._

She climbed into the Crushinator, backpack, lunch bag and satchel swung across her right arm before she tossed them into the passenger street. She took a deep breath, once, twice, before she licked her lips and started the loud, rumbling engine. She eased herself into driving the large, relatively unfamiliar truck. Though she didn't drive often, the certain aspect of control it allowed eased her a bit, made her constant licks to her lips stop, made her grip on the wheel relax. It was just her and the empty road, gray, slick with the dew from the night before and as she took it all in the bright rainy morning, her breathing eased. The towering, slightly blurred trees were rich and nearly evergreen, even in January.

If she wasn't living in the life of a fictional teenage girl, it would have been beautiful.

The drive to Forks high school was relatively uneventful, with only a little amount of rain, Lauren blasting her phone's little speakers instead of the radio because she could only stand golden oldies when she was in the right mood for it and apparently high possibility of being eaten by someone made her blast  _Iron Maiden's The Number of the Beast_ and  _Run to the Hills_ like nobody's business(they were her unwind songs as of late), on a small playlist, on repeat. The slight crooning and rapid pace guitar and drums made a nice contrast to the looming forest around her, filled the silence and made Lauren, well, relax even further.

Bella's description of the school was fairly accurate in a sense that the school didn't look quite right. Maybe it was her own, three thousand strong high school and tall three story buildings and old ridiculously large courtyard that was triple the size of a football field bias talking, but the Home of the Spartans didn't scream school to her. At least high school. It was fairly reminiscent of her minuscule middle school: Tiny, brick buildings that were clustered together and numbered, she eyed the parking lot in front of a building marked 'Main Office' and drove past it, to the larger, slightly shititier parking lot in front of the two largest buildings. What she guessed was the Cafeteria or the gym, not quite knowing which was which. The fact that most of the school seemed to connected loosely with walkways outside did not endear her to it.

_If it rains for so much of the fucking time, why the hell isn't it an inside, one building school? I swear in real life it had been or was that just the movie?_

It was eight, still an hour before the first class started, but the parking lot on this side was relatively full.  _Must be a hangout time, or the people in clubs and sports._ She steadily ignored the Volo at the other end of the parking lot as she turned off her engine(she had deliberately parked as far away as she could). The number of students all about, loitering, made something in her empty stomach heavy. It had been easy to ignore the time difference at home with only her phone and Charlie as a point of reference, even when she had gone out, it had been later in the day with Charlie, she could ignore the plethora of acid wash jeans and large t-shirts and even the lack of bras. But the otherness of the time period she was now in….

It was  _eerie._

It was suddenly as if she was eight again, but this time people weren't taller and she wasn't wearing something similar. She blinked. Wondering again if she existed in Twi-world. She hadn't checked. Didn't know where to start( _much like she didn't know where to start when it came to blowing this popsicle stand_ ). She knew for sure that the internet wasn't as prominent as before and dial up was a fucking nightmare to work with( _God she missed Wifi_ ). Her phone seemed to be connected to reality, at least her's- she had access to modern youtube, so she couldn't exactly use that. She had Miriam trying to track the house phone number of their home in California and if it lined up here than she would have the answer if her mom answered the phone if some else answered she would inquire after her family and would find out from there. Short of physically going to California herself, she had no other ideas.

The sight of a lot of kids, teenage kids, but kids nonetheless made Lauren lick her lips and grabbed her phone, fingers trembling. She scrolls through the music and deliberately selected  _Dead Girl Walking_ from the  _Heathers_ musical, a product that wouldn't be made in nine years, popping in her earbuds and taking a few moments to just  _blast_ the three-year-old song. It was soothing and felt... Nice to have a reminder that when and where she was couldn't define her, wouldn't force her into accepting her strange, frightening place in Twi- World.

_And if I die today, the chorus of the song will be pitch fucking perfect._

**OOOOOOOOO**

* "That's Isabella, the new girl Esme mentioned!" chirped Alice, tugging on her husband's arm excitedly. Being what she was and Jasper's own usual inclination of following his wife's lead, he was tugged down towards her in her forceful exuberance.

Edward forced himself not to roll his eyes at his sister's, zealous and bubbly enthusiasm. It wouldn't due to appear to be so rude to a woman, even if she never caught the gesture. Isabella Swan did indeed pull up, in a pathetic and frankly frightening bucket of rust that Edward thought could fall apart at any moment. Most of the children did have such sort of cars, old and frankly hideous, but at least they looked like they could go past sixty and not startled him more than the engine was the fact that she was had the sound of British metal coming from inside the cab. A song made roughly around the time the girl had been born. He wonders, briefly, who had influenced her to like such music, perhaps her estranged father?

The children's reaction to the relatively unfamiliar vehicle was typical:

_It's Isabella Swan!_

_I hope she's hot._

_Oh, newbie is here!_

Edward tried to tune out the cacophony of voices out as best as he could, grimacing at their petty and shallow thoughts, reacting in such reverberation to something so mundane as a new student. It was as if they were throwing a new, shiny toy into their small lives, despite how simple it was to acquire a new student. They were so easy to incentivize, to rile up. His family had had the same reaction and he wagered even when Michael Newton had the same when he had come a few years prior. He remembered how the more inane girls had fancied his brothers and himself as a new opportunity, in which they had missed with the Newton boy. His sisters, of course, had been the target of idiotic teenage boys that had found themselves in the mood for a romp or 'in love' with them. He had no doubt that many little boys(as well as a few select, confused girls) were looking for the same chance with the girl who was coming out of the truck.

Despite himself, the memory of both Carlisle's and Esme's encounter with the girl made him mildly curious; Carlisle had thought of the frightened, quiet girl that had simply lost her way, Esme had found a vivacious and smiling girl bantering with her father. Edward had seen that she had a distinct lacking in respect for her elders and mulishness typical to children, but one encounter between his parents meant little to discern her personality. So he himself was looking in her direction, as were the rest of the children around him. She was a tiny thing he reflected as she jumped out of her truck, only an inch taller than Alice herself, even with her slight, three-inch heels(She walked confidently in them, thick and supported as they were).

She stood in all black(save for a brown leather bag across her torso)- a rebel or a attempting for that image he wasn't sure. She was curvy, plump really- either from poor genetics or overeating he could not tell, not so much that she waddled or anything of the sort, but enough that it would cause many of the children to dislike her- with a rounded, child-like face, large grey eyes with no lashes to speak of, a small nose and small, plump lips. All her features were like that, small and diminutive, child-like.

Her small height was emphasizing how much of a child this girl is, delicate, Esme had said that. The small amount of her color was rosy and just a hint of tan seemed to emphasize that even further, showed off the deep bruises of lack of sleep on her face. Her cropped, brown hair was wet, darkened by the rain, she didn't even bother to lift the hood of her sharply cut jacket against the light spray. An umbrella dangled from the satchel, but she did not even motion towards it. Nicely dressed, he mused, more so than needed for Forks. A try hard he would wager, trying to be stylish and edgy if her monochromatic choice of dress was any indication.

She wasn't beautiful, as no human truly was, nor did she have a face or body that would attract much attention in a crowded space, but if he had to label her by human standards she was merely cute. Like an overweight kitten or puppy perhaps.

But half the boys were already imagining themselves in love with her.

_Damn those legs and those tits!_

Edward could see that she was relatively well endowed and she had shapely legs and perhaps that would replace the boy's want for beauty. He pitied the poor girl, being lusted after was never pleasant(it was such a chore but of course the girl wasn't privy to thoughts as he was), but by her dress and by the way most children were at that age perhaps she wanted that. She walked with a sway to her small hips, back and forth, heel to toe*. It made him want to roll his eyes at her strut.

_She's not very pretty._

_God, what a fatty. Wish I had boobs that big_

_Lauren and Jessica said she was cool._

_I can't believe she's wearing that to school-_

" _I don't have to stay and die like cattle; I could change my name and ride up to Seattle. But I don't own a motorbike - Wait...here's an option that I like: Spend those thirty hours gettin'... freakay! Yeah! I need it hard, I'm a dead girl walking! I'm in your yard, I'm a dead girl walking!"_ crooned out of her earphones, loud and melodious, a change from the harsh grind of Iron Maiden.

"Huh. That's a song I never heard before," said Emmett, starring in the girl's direction. She was blasting the song as she made her way towards the Main Office building(with small, controlled steps in that hips swaying walk of her's), the noise to a level that would most likely damage her already frail hearing, "Yo, Eddie what's that song?"

Edward frowned.

"I do not know. And do not call me that, Emmett."

Of course, Emmet would like the vulgar lyrics of a girl seemingly wanting to have relations with a boy after saying something against another popular girl. A strange turn from Iron Maiden, but just as vulgar, he found. His large, burly brother chuckled at his reaction.

"You don't know it? That's strange. You claim to know it all Eddie."

Edward grimaced.

"I know music that is important, Emmett."

Emmett raised a brow and rolled his eyes.

_What crawled up your ass?_

He found his curiosity peaked when he caught Lauren Mallory, Jessica Stanley and Angela Weber intercept the girl. The 'popular' crowd was already honing in, he thought with amusement. Either to ostracize the girl or to bring her into the fold. A pack of sheep bringing her into the flock. He was about to see her true status of being a rebel if she blew the girls off she was determined to be such, if she was overeager, she was a try hard.

"Izzy!"

 _God, she looks so cool,_ gushed Lauren Mallory's mind, much to his surprise, as the rather prickly blonde was not often praising others,  _I wish I could pull off black like that, and she doesn't even bother with makeup, the bitch._

That was more familiar, as was Jessica Stanley's mind:

_Look at little miss Goth. What the fuck does she think she is, she's always wearing black. And look at Lauren, playing the welcoming community, what a two faced bitch._

Her mind flashes to their subsequent meeting at an outlet store, where the girl had indeed been wearing a black, ruffled blouse and dark jeans. No makeup either. Dismissing Jessica in a way that was clearly unintentional, but the vapid girl had taken it greatly to heart. Esme had made the same comment, praising the girl for not sloping on 'unnecessary accents' to her face. He watches as the girl pops out her earbuds, turning to the girl that called her name with a faint smile.

"Hi, guys," she said softly, smiling, he notices white, straight teeth through Angela's eyes. He liked her mind, she was one of the most kind creatures he had ever met.

She is pleasantly surprised by the way the girl has taken both headphones out, considerate is the word that comes to mind, as Angela's own shy smile came tentatively in response. The girl is winding her earbuds around her mp3 player, looking directly up at the three girls crowding around her.

"Hi Izzy!" cried Jessica, smiling widely,  _I suppose if Queen B-eyoch likes her it's social suicide to ignore her._

"Did you get your class list?"

 _She looks so nervous, I hope she has a nice day._  The kind tenure of Angela's voice was soothing.

"On my way now, Mrs. Cope was nice enough to go over a couple of class changes with me over the break."

The way she sounds in that moment is resigned. He wonders if she was stuck in a course she disliked.

"Can you find your way to the office?" asked Lauren.

"I got it," the girl waves her hand over her shoulder in direction of the office.

"Want us to walk you?"

She blinks and then smiles again.

"Thanks, but I-'

Suddenly, she freezes and looks to towards them in a sudden, quick manner. Perhaps she is attracted to the fact that they were all staring, even Rosalie had come away from her thoughts about herself to look at the girl. She smiles, hesitantly. Then, Edward watches in sheer astonishment as the girl waves in their direction.

_She just fucking waved at the Cullens!_

"Izzy?" it's Jessica who speaks surprised and mouth open.

They do not wave back of course and the girl seems to accept that well enough.

"Their mom was really sweet the other day," her voice is thoughtful, clear as a bell despite the distance of an entire lot between them, "I thought it'd be polite to say hello for Esme."

_She's on first name bases with Mrs. Cullen!?_

Edward had of course known this, but the fact that she says her name with such genuine casualness is startling. Curious, Edward reaches for her mind, trying to find if she had done that on purpose, to catch the attention of the popular girls much more firmly and-

_Nothing._

Edward feels nothing, no voice, not even a whisper from the girl's direction. Her mind is quiet and silent, almost as if she wasn't there at all. He blinks, catches her large eyes. They are primarily gray, a darker rim around the edge of the iris, with softer, different shades of gray and blue. It is a startlingly, sharp color, with yellow bands extending from her pupil like a burst of a delicate flower or star, flecked with reddish spots. He is startled, never had any human ever look him directly in his eye, even from a distance. She blinks, quickly, licks her too small lips and turns away.

"Gotta go, guys. See you later?"

 _Esme is meddling again,_ is Rosalie's thought, mulish and crossed.

She turns to him, a pinched frown at her lips.

"What was she thinking?" she tosses her blonde curls over her shoulder in an agitated manner, "Did Esme set her on us?"

Edward grunts, annoyed, looking back towards the girl, retreating to the main office, waving off the trio of girls as they head to away, back to their little herd of friends parked around the Crowley boy's large van. He tries to hear her, to catch her voice and he hears _nothing_. He stares at her, confused and frustration rising at the lack of thoughts at the lack of anything from her mind. He tries again, taking half a step toward her, as if distance would ease the lack of voice, despite that as long as they were within a mile of him, familiar voice or not, had never mattered.

And still, Isabella 'Izzy' Swan mind is silent and unknown to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Twilight, that belongs to its author, its publishing company and its movie studio.
> 
> This is just me playing in its sandbox, making misshapen sandcastles.
> 
> Edit: 2 June, 2017
> 
> So. I decided to split the 'First Sight' chapter into two. For one, it was getting ridiculously long, like ten-thousand words long and I knew for sure that most of the other chapters would not follow that trend, so, split it in half I did. It's now a little more manageable. The next chapter, part two, should be out soon enough. I was nearly done with it when I noticed how long that half was, enough to be its own chapter...
> 
> *1 So I looked up Forks weather and I tried to find it for 2005, but could only find it as far back as 2009 online, even when checking multiple sources, which, kinda sucks because I wanted to make it accurate as possible in the Real world in some aspects. So instead I just went with Forks average of weather in January.
> 
> *2 So for Edward's P.O.V., I decided to try and mimic Meyer's writing style and... It burns. She writes soo flowery and purple! I mean I tend to write a little flowery but I did it double for Edward and it made me cringe... Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. I certainly did not enjoy writing it, lol. It was really weird describing myself as well, especially so unflattering and condensing, from Edward's point of view. I mean, I don't think I'm hideous and my self-esteem, while not the best is pretty firm in the belief that I'm passably attractive, like at least a six on a one to ten scales. More cute than hot, but eh, that's genetics for you. Writing my description as an angry, child-like kitten felt kinda strange, but, well, hope that it is passable.
> 
> *3 I walk heel to toe, shoulders back and hips swaying like nobody's business. When I was a kid, there was a shoot of a movie where a woman in high heels walked that way, started from her feet and slowly panned up to her legs, hips, breasts and then face. I thought it was so cool, watching how her hips swayed and at the ripe age of like four to five I practiced and practiced so I could walk just like the woman. It was Uma Thurman as Poison Ivy, in Batman and Robin(Hey, we had the video cassette and I watched it a lot as a kid, sue me, it may be a shit Batman movie but I have a nostalgia goggles over it). And it just sort of became my natural walk. It is really obvious when I'm wearing heels, not so much in sneakers.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked the chapter and Part II is coming soon!
> 
> ~Happy Reading and please Review,
> 
> Moon Witch '96


	6. I am Bacon(Well Shit)

' _First Sight Part II'_

" _Food glorious food. Eat right through the menu, just loosen your belt, two inches and then you- work up a new appetite, in this interlude, then food once again, food fabulous food glorious food!"~ Food, Glorious Food, Oliver! 1960_

Lauren remembers rather vividly what it's like to be the new girl at school, at least, she does when she was in elementary school, being as she had only ever moved when she was in elementary school(At least twice, four other times before she started school). And really, the high school equivalent is much the same. Everyone is really more or less friendly, smiling and welcoming. You know, acting like normal people from a relatively small town when it came to a newcomer. With gentle curiosity, genuine pleasantness but with a certain distance. Not anything drastic, but... Just... Normal. Most of it was cut down because, well, it was the start of a new semester, everyone was more or less getting used to that and more mindful of that than anything else.

_God Bella is so insecure._

It is slightly different compared to experience at being the 'new' girl, it is all eager teenagers around her, so she really isn't sure at how sincere everyone is being when they smile and try to be nice. Of course, there are the apathetic people that don't give a fuck and Lauren respects them all the more for it. Her first class is Gym, which is delightful in a sense that it is full of the athletic crowd, the kids on the teams and all. Hence, Coach Clapp is much more focused on them and only tells her to sit out the class until they can get a uniform for like a second before he's chasing after a tall, stocky boy, yelling:

"Crowley, get your ass in gear or we won't get to state this year!"

She sighs as she leans back, lifting her book, sitting amongst her fellow non-athletic kids as the Athletes monopolize the gym*. Lauren M. is one of them, a cheerleader and of course, head at that. She is militant as she barks orders, all of her fellow cheerleaders taking it all with nodding heads and smiles, which makes Lauren wonder at the fact that Bella had never mentioned that in the entire book series( _Self-absorbed much?_ ). Angela is next to her, smiling in her particularly unused uniform of yellow and blue, glancing at the book in her hands. A series of photographs are sprawled across her lap and the fact that Angela is in the school newspaper, Cheif Editor, in fact, seems to have been transplanted from the movie-verse.

"Oh, I love that series," she says, grins, as she looks at Lauren shifts the book down to look at Angela, "Have you read the latest one?"

"Yeah. _Half-Blood Prince_ was one of my favorites."

"I can't wait for the last one!"

She lifts the _Prisoner of Azkaban_ , again, smiling, wondering how Angela would react if she knew that the last book was in Lauren's back pocket. She has a vivid image of being tackled.

"It'll be a tale for our generation," she says seriously, "The next book is going to make us cry!"

Angela nods.

"Is there anything else you like reading?"

The rest of the class is spent talking about books, with Angela commenting on how she's glad to have someone other than Lauren M. in the class with her; 'She is too busy shaping up the squad, so I just mostly read in here all the time or work on the paper'. Her next class is Trig, Angela and Lauren walking along with her. Funnily enough, they have mostly the same schedule, with the exception of Lauren M. not having her last two classes, while Angela did not have her last class(that was her Journalism class). She smiled as she walked along the girls, pleasantly surprised about how… Well, natural it felt. It made her so nostalgic and she wonders briefly about her high school friends, most of which she hadn't kept up with. It made her remember that she was only two years out of school and that her life had changed so much in so little time. But she had been happy for her changes in life, with one glaringly obvious exception.

It was without that sort of mindset that she came into her next class, kinda sad and kinda miffed at the fact that she still had no idea how she was even in Twi-world. Miriam and her had spitballed of course- they bounced things off of each other very often.

_"Aliens."_

_"Miriam, I don't think it was aliens."'_

_"I mean, Meyer did write The Host. It could be aliens!"_

_"I really don't think so."_

_"Okay, not the Yurks, then. Did you pick up a creepy doll?"_

_Lauren sighed, curling up into herself, pulling a quilt she had found in the hallway closet higher. It was late, way past Miriam's and her bedtime. She was sitting by the window in Charlie's lazy boy, looking out into the night as it rained. She did not fear any creature looking back at her- Not yet. She doubted she had peaked the interest of the Cullens just yet. Or at least, to stalker levels. The fact that Esme had gone out of her way to talk to her worried her... But she couldn't really dwell on that. She could hardly see outside, just the impression of the tree thanks to the small lamp she had on. A book was across her lap, but she hadn't really looked at it all._

_"Not that I know of."_

_Miriam sighed. She was quiet and so was Lauren._

_"We're justing making shit up at this point," she said, she growled it out really._

_Lauren leaned her head against the window._

_"Yeah. We really are. The last thing I remember is going to bed... In November. It's now January both in Twilight and in the real world. Dates and times are aligned. I lost three months and there is no indication here, or in the real world what happened to me," Lauren swallowed thickly, licking her lips, "Miriam... I'm really scared."_

_"That makes two of us, Lauren."_

Now, math and Lauren don't get along. Oh, she is fine with it, can get at least an eighty in most classes, but as a usually straight A student, that has borne some resentment(the fact that she had only ever failed one class in her academic career, _by six points_ , did not endear her to it).The fact that the teacher, a sour-faced man demands she introduces herself with unmistakable glee in his eyes makes her know for sure that this is a class she won't like regardless of the subject matter. No one else had asked her to introduce herself, much to her surprise, but she accepted this as a courtesy of the teachers trying to tone down the attention she was getting. It was the start of the new semester, after all, their attention needed to be elsewhere. She scowls at the man because she loathes bullies and while she is tempted to tell him off, the fact that she rather not slap a grown-ass man for being a bully to a supposedly teenage girl. She did not want to add to assault to a public record, even if it was Bella's record and not her's. It was the damn principal of the matter.

She turns to the class and tries to smile, feeling her face heat up.  _All eyes on me._ Public speaking isn't her forte, she is much better at public snarking. But,  _fake it or book it_.

"Hey, my name is Isabella Swan," saying that lie is hard, bitter on Lauren's tongue, but she manages to spit it out without too much trouble, other than an inward urge to smash something (Maybe jerkwad Mr. Varner's face for making her do this). She continues with a quick lick to her lips, "But I guess most of you already know that if you listened to Charlie for the last few weeks. Call me Izzy, it's less of a mouthful. I like reading a lot and writing and hope to be an Artist one day, hopefully not starving."

Some of the kids do look at her, with interest, while the rest ignore her, as teenagers do. Some actually chuckle at her words. She smirks, feeling much more at ease at their lack of reactions. Oh, some are whispering, gossip mongers no doubt. But then, there are always people like that.

"I like movies and am very picky about my T.V. shows, but lean a lot towards fantasy and sci-fi dramas. I also like a lot of Asian horror and humor. Any questions?"

A guy, tall and with skin like that of chocolate milk, eyes that matched, in the front smirks, handsome and knowing it as he looks her up and down. He is slouched, easy, letterman draped across the back of his chair.

"You like horror, huh, Wednesday Addams?"

Lauren doesn't like bullies. She is a hot blooded Latina, as she jokingly tells her mother so much, but there aren't many things she really gets worked up over. Not really angry. But, she's been angry, confused and in so much stress over the last few days that her temper seemed to be really short as of late(sleeping so little does not really help with that). If anyone knew who and what she really was, she bet they wouldn't blame her. She places her hands on her hip, curling her lips. While she doesn't hate the thought of being called Wednesday, it obvious that the kid in front of her, Crowley, Coach Clapp had called him, the guy that nearly kills Bella with the van, is not saying it with flattery or with the affection of a nickname. It's her dress, maybe, the fact that she doesn't quite look right for a 2005 high schooler. A little too adult maybe, with her lack of showing off skin like most of the girls around her and disregard for fitting in with the current trends, a little too dark in color.

"Yeah. I like it. Got a problem with that?"

"Just kinda creepy, Wednesday."

Lauren M. in the back is biting her lip, looking at her and shaking her head, in embarrassment for her, maybe, or the fact that Crowley was probably her boyfriend(Lauren had spotted that the blonde girl had thrown the boy a kiss during Gym). Angela has an open mouth in slight horror and looks like she wants to do something. The rest of the kids are snickering. Mr. Varner makes no move to stop the boy. Lauren feels her temper flare, mostly at Varner, but at the boy too. She is watching the cocky kid, narrowed eyes as she sizes him up. He is in peak form, she bets, popular. Star everything. She can't remember if he had been this much of an ass in the books, or Bella had never mentioned it because gasp, a boy can't bully a girl (strong arm her for prom, on the other hand, that's played up for humor)!

"Asian horror has a different ambiance than most western horror. It isn't gore-porn for the most part. It is more psychological and brings about a better overall emotional tone. It's not about the horror, really, not that much of a fan of horror in general because most of it is just shock factor. It's the undertone and the fact that a lot of Asian horror has a different base in mythology. Different cultural fears portrayed and that is always very interesting," she smiles, ice cold, at her use of high words and the fact that the boy is blinking stupidly at her, "But that might go over your head."

The boy blushes, as more people laugh, Lauren Mallory is frowning, but that hadn't stopped her snort. Crowley sits up from his slouch.

"Yeah, Wednesday-" he's stuttering and mentally, Lauren adds a point to her scoreboard.

"Too many big words, Tyler?" says Angela, sweet and pleasant.

Lauren smirks,  _So even little Miss Kind-Thoughts can have a bit of a backbone._

The teacher, obviously disheartened at her lack of outward reaction at being forced to talk in front of them and Tyler's casual bullying, clears his throat and hands her the slip.

"That's enough Miss Swan," he grunts, not even looking at Crowley, "Sit in the back next to Newton."

Lauren has always been a bit of a smartass. Being let loose from High School where you're taught to not talk back has been detrimental to her respect for asshole Teachers. Especially if her university, small as it was, practically demanded you speak up in class and critique where you can.

"Thanks for the clear instruction. Which one of you is Newton?" she turns back to the class, pleased that more kids are laughing.

She knows of course. She had read the book, but, it's all about faking it or booking it. The boy that raises his hand is attractive, only blond boy in class, sitting straight, looking at her intensely and much like Tyler, has a Letterman draped over the back of his chair(Lauren mourns the fact that she doesn't have her own Fine Arts Letterman, it was dreadfully comfortable and it was just perfect for Forks Weather, not so much Texas weather). He has somewhat of a baby face, big blue eyes and spiky hair that makes her wince at the amount of gel that must be in them. She walks toward him, holding her binder and textbooks in hand, pencil and pen case perched carefully on top. He is grinning as she sits next to him in the joint desk, one of the only available. He makes room, shoving his textbook and his own binder to the edge of the table and scoots closer.

"Mike," he whispers underneath his breath, beaming. She smiles back softly, not missing the way his cute baby blues do a quick, but notable little glance up and down her body, before they settle in her face.

_Much too young for me, Kiddo._

"Izzy, nice to meet you."

She shakes his hand, thrusting it forward. He catches it quickly and shakes a little too hard before she turns pointedly to Mr. Varner, who is squinting at her. She narrows her eyes, opens her notebook to her Trigonometry area and just smiles.

_Bring it Math Man._

The rest of the class is spent with Mr. Varner lecturing and hurling questions at unsuspecting students. Lauren, true to most of her last few years in Math, spends the time half taking notes, half doodling in her sketchbook. Mr. Varner does leap at her more than the others and it takes her a second to answer the questions, but it had been a year since she had to take any sort of math class, which is her only excuse. He is frowning, but nods when she gets the questions right and sneers when she gets two out of the six wrong. It is when she is leaving class, that the two girls converge on her. Mike and Tyler are lingering, tentatively following on either side of the two girls.

"Sorry about Tyler," Lauren Mallory scowls at the boy, who has a hand draped over her waist, "He's a bit of an ass."

"Yeah, I am," says the boy, good-naturedly, "Good burn in there, Wednesday. No hard feelings?"

Lauren raises a brow.

"Sure, as long as you ease up on the Wednesday bit. I'm not a homicidal kid with a fascination of death."

"I think it suits you," says Lauren M., winking. She is teasing and motioning at her black dress, "In the best way."

Lauren laughs because she can see that her fellow Lauren isn't being bitchy at all about it.

"Maybe."

"Can you believe Varner gave work on our first day back?" groans Mike.

Lauren purses her lips, clutching her binder to her chest.

"He seems to be an ass."

Angela bits her lip and sighs.

"One day here and you got it right."

The group chats comfortably, more or less, with Mike following the trend of Twilight and… Well, just being generally overly nice and trying really hard. Part of Lauren is flattered. The Mikes of her high school would have been buddies at most, she had run with the 'popular' crowd when she was in high school. More of a happenstance than because of her own merit at socializing, most of them had been in AP with her and that had lowered the fact that there were three thousand students in the school total or five hundred in her graduating class. But never really considered dating her.

She doesn't blame or fault them for it, simply because for one, Lauren hadn't been really obsessed with the thought of a romance in high school(or now for that matter), other than to ogle a butt or two. She always focused on her studies and making friends rather than romance. (She was the smart one, the kinda cute girl that was your buddy, not the one you put your tongue into her throat)

She had been the shoulder to cry on for many people, and that affected her ability to blindly go into a romantic relationship. She wasn't willy-nilly with her romantic affections because she was very adamant about the fact that a romance was meant to be something that was a large investment of time, effort, on both partners part. Most teenage boys, even when they had asked her out, hadn't seemed to understand that or have been very decidedly  _not_ Lauren's cup of tea when it came to a boyfriend. Especially the girls that had asked her out, though that had been a factor of Lauren not swinging that way, much as she was flattered at their attention(and that was a couple of times, which her sister still teased her about having a better girl pull than their brother, much to Andrew's chagrin).

As a scholarship student and as an artist, so intent on A, not losing her scholarship and B, working day and night on her projects, she frankly had never found anyone to be the person for her to take that relationship with(Her school only has fifty something students, mostly women, or men in relationships or, well, gay). She didn't fault anyone for not being as firm or serious when it came to romantic relationships. Different mindsets and all that, which is why she had never been in a relationship(twenty years old and a Virgin, never been kissed, it was the stuff of Rom-coms, she knew much to her chagrin over the matter).

When it came to Mike's eager smiles, all Lauren could do was look at his roundish cheeks and remember vividly that he was seventeen-years-old, while she was twenty. Not a big age gap, that's for sure, but it still made her a bit queasy and gross, even if Mike was a literature character(and that really seals the deal on romance, everyone around her is from a different world, part of a book universe!). Because at the moment the tall, blond boy was really real and, well, a person. And she was a twenty-year-old playing the part of a seventeen-year-old- Dawson's Creek style. She wasn't planning on roping herself together with a seventeen-year-old. She liked older, more mature _men_  anyway.

The rest of the day passes comfortably, she has no problems in English or Government, just noted absently that she has Eric in the last class(he says hi and shakes her hand, smiling pleasantly and looking all shy when she smiles back), with no Tyler in English and Mike seemingly having most of her schedule as well. Lunch is passed with the girls and the boys of Forks high school all converging on a table and teasing Lauren for her homemade lunch.

"Aww, Daddy make you a lunch?" coes Tyler, the asshat that he was. Only now Lauren can see it's much like her own humor, a defense mechanism and the urge to hide behind it. Only Tyler's seems to be more of the dickish, outward humor.

She sighs.

"It's called cooking. And I think I'm not half bad at it," she lifts her Tupperware container, in emphasis, "So you can eat whatever the hell kinda meat that burger is and I'll eat my delicious, lean and beautiful meat. So suck it, Crowley."

The boy laughs.

"I like the cut of your jib, Wednesday."

She rolls her eyes and eats her cold pasta with relish. He does the same to his crappy looking burger, sipping at his chocolate milk gleefully. Lauren makes it a great point to not even look in the direction of the Cullen table. She isn't Bella Swan. She doesn't need the half-baked exposition on Jessica's part to add to the oh-so-mysterious Cullen's bad reputation. She knows it all and it was just a stupid way to emphasis on how apart the Cullens were from the dredges of humanity. By the end of Lunch, Lauren is ready to book it to her truck and blow the rest of the day off. She is super tempted when she drops off her morning books into the floor of the passenger seat(she sees no point of a locker if she has her wonderful Crushinator), but both Angela and Mike are waiting for her in the slight drizzle, underneath her large umbrella (why no one seems to have one other than her is beyond her).

It only one the way that she is going to Biology, the  _only_  class she couldn't change that she starts to feel any sort of trepidation. It was after all, what would determine if the rest of the trend would follow and Edward would freak out at the smell of her. She freezes outside of the classroom, takes a deep breath, waves at Mike and Angela as they go to the seats they had last semester and makes it a point at not looking in Edward's direction. After speaking quickly to Mr. Banner, licking her lips about five times, Lauren turns toward the table she would share with the hundred and four-year-old vampire.

She had been so damn hopeful. She wasn't Bella. It wasn't her body, even if she looked like her apparently, it wasn't the _same_.

But as dark, dark, black eyes glare at her, Lauren knows like she knows the sky is blue, like the fact that her name is not Isabella Swan but Lauren Calderon.

_Well fuck me sideways, I'm Goddamn Bacon._

She nearly freezes. Nearly screams or bolts for the door. But instead, she just walks stiffly towards the table, pulls her chair the furthest she can from Edward and waits. She waits for him to kill everyone in the room. For him to snap her neck. She waits and she waits with tears in her eyes, watching him out of the corner of her vision, sitting with her legs underneath her, ready to spring up, hands on her satchel, where her lighter and hairspray lay waiting. Not that it would help, but it is comforting to know she would not go down without at least trying to defend herself.

She  _waits._

She can see the tension on his body. The way his marble white hands are curled on his thighs, the way his entire body is bowed, taut, ready to move. It's strange that no one notices, he is nearly falling off his chair in his urge to get away from her. She wonders faintly if she dies whether or not her body would be returned to her own world. If the police would find her cold, still body in her bed, drained of all of her blood, in the clothes she was wearing now, with only Miriam in the know of how she was murdered. Or would she be buried underneath a headstone that called her Isabella Swan, with her family never getting the closure they deserved, with the exception of Miriam?

She hates him.

At that moment she really hates Edward Cullen. Beyond the fact that he was a somewhat shitty character, beyond the fact that he is a stalker, a murder, and some many terrible things. Because he wanted to _eat_ her. He wanted to kill her because she smelled like fucking bacon. She seethes and when she sees him moving his arm, she turns, eyes wide because would he-

Black eyes meet her's.

After a semester of horrible color theory, Lauren knows that black is technically not a color(or hue, if you rather), but a shade, just as white is a tint. There are millions of variations of shades because every hue technically has a shade that is equivalent to black. There is no such thing as true black or true white, those are just theoretical. There are red-black or warm or cool blacks. But no real, true black. Lauren thinks as Edward glares at her, with those ridiculously long, bronze(he looks kinda like a red-head, some part of her mind is making soul-less ginger jokes) lashes, that his eyes are the closest she will ever see to true black. Because they are dark, pitch dark and  _burning_.

And she can see the hunger in them, the strong resentment he is throwing at her, hot and venomous. Lauren wants to cry. Not in fear, though that is so present that isn't funny (she only has ever been this afraid when her father breathed his last, when she hadn't been there and she had no idea what would happen after that, when an armed gunman had stopped their car in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere Mexico, Cartel-related no doubt, with her young cousin sitting next to her and clutching her hand) but in  _anger_. Because it isn't her fault that she smells like bacon. She can't control that and this _thing_  next to her is feeling hate because he can't control his own fucking hunger(a hunger that technically doesn't even sustain them if Carlisle starving himself shows that they can't die that way) because she smells  _delicious_.

She doesn't want to be in Twi-world.

She sure as hell doesn't want to be in Bella's place.

And she doesn't want to be eaten by Edward because she smells good.

Edward sneers, lips curling. Her heart is pounding and full of so much adrenaline, fingers curling into fists, body taut as Edward's. She fights every instinct in her as she forces herself to follow the book and turn away, head down as if she was shy. She curls into herself wait for the bell or something to take her away. Death or for her to appear in her bed, just something to fucking happen.

 _I want to go home,_ she thinks, again and again in her head and she wonders if Edward can hear her. That only makes her even angrier, she is shaking with it.

_Because if you can you sick, sick fucking monster, I will do my damndest to not be your idiotic Lady love if you don't kill me right now. If you do, I will haunt your sparkly ass until your stupid existence is ended. I will not be cowed and I will never, ever follow your insipid, angsty story that entertained me as a middle-schooler. Because I am_ _**bette** _ _r than that._

_FUCK YOU._

The bell rings and Edward leaves as if he were a bat out of hell. She nearly laughs, her entire body sagging with relief. He made no indication that he had heard her, much as he hadn't in the parking lot, where she had screamed his name at the top of her mental lungs and hurled insults to his face as he stared at her. Mike, oblivious to the fact that the vampire nearly killed her, maybe everyone in the room, is smiling at he walks up to her.

"What did you do to Cullen, stab him with a pencil?"

_I wish, not that it would do much._

"I have no idea what his problem was. He looked a little sick though," she says and she is immensely proud of the fact that her voice is not shaking, "It is flu season."

She tries not to snicker at the fact that Edward's human life ended during a very vicious flu season. She felt a little petty at finding amusement at the end of a boy's life, but, since said boy wanted to nom on her neck, she felt justified.

"I guess. But, I would have talked to you if I sat next to you."

She smiles, absently and shakily gets to her feet, waves at Angela and makes her way to her last class. A quick text to Miriam, with shaking fingertips, is all she can manage, ' _I'm bacon. Not dead. Fuck me_ ', before she goes into her last class. She wonders if Edward is going to ambush her, it nearly makes her bolt to her truck. But she takes a deep breath through her nose, trying to think zen thoughts, pushes that aside as she goes to her last class, Art.

She relaxes at the smell at the of the room, heady, thick paint smell. She may not use paint last herself but it is a familiar smell that she connects to studio space, so some tension in her body leaches away. She is surprised at the fact that there is not one, but two Cullens in her class, seniors Emmett and Rosalie, looking bored(she swore Emmett had had Spanish in  _Midnight Sun_ and she reminds herself that it is technically non-canon, and she takes it as a confirmation to more or less ignore it now). Both are at the back, in the only of the four-seater table that has empty seats. She sighs.

_Of course._

"Hello, Ms. Swan," says the Teacher, pleasantly, "I'm Ms. Garner, please have a seat with Mr. Cullen and Ms. Hale."

"Just Izzy, please, Ms. Garner... Any relation to James Garner?"

The older woman smiles.

"My father, he mentioned that a pretty young woman had introduced herself the other day..."

She takes the slip and Lauren makes her way to the table. She sits, back and arms tired from being so stiff last class. She flopped into her hard, plastic chair.

"Hi," she says, more out of habit then expecting a response.

"Hey!" she nearly falls off her chair when Emmett speaks, grinning at her. His voice is deep, very smooth and booming.

She blinks, on alert. She does not miss the fact that Emmett is taller than her by more than a foot. Or that her head is about the size of his bicep. But that's not what's creepy.

"I'm Izzy," she says, eyes flickering back and forth between the two vampires.

They are just as eerie as the Esme, Carlisle, and Edward, beautiful, too beautiful and too still. Emmett looked like a young Arnold Schwarzenegger, circa Mister Olympia days- built like a brick house with muscles that have muscles and then some- but with dimples and black curls and alabaster skin that is clear and perfect. Rosalie is an old, glossy pinup in modern form, with a haughty tilt to her pouty, full lips. She has cascading blonde curls, big eyes. The fact that they both can eat her makes her want to slap her head onto her desk.

_If I die from cardiac arrest, I will haunt your damn family. With stupid pranks. Bell Witch style._

"Emmett and this angel is my girlfriend, Rosalie."

Izzy raises an eyebrow. She goes through the motions.

"I thought you were both Esme's kids."

Rosalie looks over, a slight bite to her smile.

"We're all adopted, so don't call me inbred."

_Well, someone is defensively bitchy. Justifiable, but bitch I am in no fucking mood for shit from anyone._

"Inbred implies being descended from two family members that got freaky, not a brother and sister who are fucking," she says, with a smile just as pleasant as the blonde vampire's, just as ice cold, "And it was an innocent question. I don't know your life story, nor did I ask for you to be a bitch about who you're dating."

Lauren could admit that she could be pretty bitchy herself.

Yellow, vivid eyes narrow. Emmett laughs.

"Oh, feisty."

"With relish," she says, smiling pleasantly at them.

Rosalie tosses her blonde hair, curls that are thick and glossy. Lauren sighs, she wishes that she had her own long hair to do the same pissed off gesture. Instead, she just runs her hand through it and purses her lips.

"Big bark, Swan," she says, voice sweet, kinda like a huskier Marilyn Monroe.

Lauren makes it a point to smile, eyes narrowed.

"I'm short and flabby. A bark is my best weapon."

When Rosalie smiles, it is less icy, but rather appreciated.

"Well said, Swan."

Izzy smiled back, a little less icy herself.

"Call me Izzy. Swan isn't something I'm going to respond to, blondie."

"Alright Class, as an exercise to break the ice today, you will be drawing the person across from you until the end of class. For those of you in three to a table, just choose one of the two across from you. This is the supplies list, try to get it by at least this Friday," says Mrs. Garner, smiling and clapping her hands to bring the chattering class to attention.

Ms. Garner starts handing out large, eleven by fourteen sheets of plain, cheap paper and the list. The eleven by fourteen paper is a little bit better than copier paper, but not by much(after learning how to make her own paper, she's become a bit of a snob, much to her embarrassment). Most kids scramble for their number twos, while Lauren brings out her many pencils, and chooses a good blue one, her base for many drawing. She turns back to the vampires, purses her lips before settling on Emmett. Males were so much harder to draw because she could never glance down or in her mirror for a decent reference. Plus, Rosalie seemed to be of the inclination of getting bitchy if she messed up her nose or something. She pauses, judges the distance between them and then raises her hand(she almost shouts it out, but as she knows that it is inappropriate, God she misses college where no one gave a fuck). It looks to be five foot.

"Yes, Miss Swan?"

"Are we allowed to listen to music?"

"Yes, as long as no one else can hear it."

Lauren wastes no time and pops in her headphones. She goes to her favorites and blasts Aaron Burr's passionate,  _Wait for It_. She is so deep into just staring at Emmett and capturing his strange, abnormal perfectness that she doesn't speak until the teacher tells them that time is up. Her hands are covered in blue and pencil on a line on her hand,  _a sign of a good, productive day_. She is putting away her things when the paper in front of her is snatched up by a large hand, more than the size of her face.

"Holy shit, darlin'," Emmett's accent slips up, Tennessee southern charm, stark in his otherwise accentless American English, he lifts her paper, a delighted smile on his face, dimples flashing, "You drew me like one of your french girls!"

Lauren is both amused and annoyed.  _If I had a dollar for every idiot that said that line, I'd be rich as fuck._

"I don't have french girls. And you're not naked," she says pointedly, she giggles, "I can't believe you watched Titanic."

Rosalie squints at her.

"He dragged me to the Theater, whining and moaning about how James Cameron was going to fuck it up," She smiles, to Lauren's complete surprise, it is genuine and warm, but it is directed to her husband after all, "He cried."

Lauren is under the very good impression that vampires can't cry. But, she supposes the fact that they can be babies and be weepy over shit.

"Shut up, he did not."

The blonde, seemingly despite herself, smiles, this time at Lauren. It isn't warm but it isn't as hostile as before.

"He did."

"Babe, you're killing me," whines Emmett, he lifts Lauren's drawing, "But you can't deny that the girl is pretty good."

Rosalie looks over the drawing and nods. Lauren feels herself preen slightly at the praise, if there was something she always accepted, it was being complimented for her art. Deserved or not.

"I will buy this drawing off of you."

Lauren, knowing what sort of money they are toting, feels a distinct flattery.

"Thanks, I think," she snatches the drawing, "But it's just a quick assignment if you want something paid for I would prefer that I use good paper and spend more than an hour on it."

It was the principal of the matter of making good work.

"I'll pay you fifty bucks when this is returned."

Lauren blinks, _on the other hand-_

"Deal."

"Babe, I think we just got suckered," Emmett says this in a serious tone but is grinning as he says it, dimples flashing.

Ms. Garner is beyond herself when she sees their table. Lauren can see that the Cullens in their perfectness, can't draw for shit. She isn't sure if they had just never tried it, or don't want to put the effort, but the drawings they give Ms. Garner are basic, kinda like the self-portrait she had done in middle-school, but Ms. Garner seems to like them well enough. But their flat, uninspired and while not lacking skill by much, lack anything else. After all, the art world is no longer focused on sheer skill, but rather Concept. She frowns when she gets to Lauren's drawing.

"Miss Swan, please stay after class."

Emmett, true to his personality in the book, ooh's ominously. Rosalie, back to being silent and haughty, slaps him upside the head. Lauren licks her lips.

"Yes, Ms. Garner."

After briefly going over the supplies list(all which Lauren already has), the class is dismissed when the bell rings. The Cullens, or well, Emmett, waves at her as he leaves. Ms. Garner sits across from her, in Emmett's chair.

"You have talent," she says and she looks pleased.

Lauren feels her face heat up.

"Thank you, Ma'am."

"What do you want to be when you leave school?"

"An Artist."

Ms. Garner looks even more pleased.

"Good girl, if you need any help in your applications or looking for schools, ask me. Welcome to Forks High School, Ms. Swan."

With a large smile and a quick pat to her hand, Lauren is handed her slip and she leaves the Art classroom with a slight frown.  _I don't want to be here when college comes around, that's when Bella is turned into a fricken' sparkle-pyre._  She is going towards the office, knowing damn sure who is waiting for her inside. Sure enough, there is Edward Anthony Masen Cullen trying to 'Dazzle'(brainwash) Mrs. Cope into getting him out of Biology, sixth period. Lauren licks her lips and leans back, waiting for the door to open again so Edward can bug out and leave for Alaska with his tail between his legs for a week. She is tempted to tap her foot but knows that he shouldn't be aware of her until the girl comes in.

As if by some invisible cue, the girl comes in not a second later, runs to the basket and runs out. Almost comically(if you know, he wasn't debating on killing her), Edward freezes, taut and turns around to glare at her with his pitch eyes. Lauren makes an effort not to glare back, not to scream or run for the door. She just stares, fists clenching. The fine hairs on the back of her neck and her arm are raised.

"Never mind, then," he turns back, funnily stiff, his voice is kinda nice, but is trying to be this sort of velvety tone that Bella describes in the book, kinda like a kid trying to sound smooth and failing too, "I can see that's impossible. Thank you so much for your help."

He turns on his heel, quick.  _Too_  quickly and bolts out the front door. Lauren breathes and moves forward to Ms. Cope. If her knees are shaking, that's her business.

"How did your first day go, dear?"

Brown eyes, pleasant behind their thick glasses, ease Lauren. Because they're  _human_.

"Better than I expected," she feels her lips curl in something that isn't really a smile or smirk, "I didn't die, at least."

Mrs. Cope chuckles, unaware at how much of a poor joke Lauren is making.

"That's good, hon. Did you like your new classes?"

"They were great, everyone's been super nice."

Mrs. Cope smiles, grabs Lauren's paperwork.

"I'm glad, Isabella. I'm so sorry that you can't take another Biology course, they really are full and sixth period is the best I can do. If you really do have stomach problems during labs, please bring a Doctor's note. Maybe I can convince Bob- I mean Mr. Banner, to change it before lunch."

"Okay, thank you so much for trying. Oh and call me Izzy, Mrs. Cope."

"Only if you call me Shelly."

Lauren smiles, weakly, but she still manages to smile.

"Alright. Thanks so much for your help, I see you later… Shelly."

Mrs. Cope waves her out. Lauren is already popping in her earphones as she steps out, putting her phone in her jacket pocket when she picks out a song to calm her nerves, settling on the soothing soundtrack of  _Legend of Zelda, Ocarina of Time_. It's raining a little harder, so Lauren gets out her umbrella as she makes her way to the car, noting that it is nearly the last one. She walks slowly, not caring if her boots get splashed as she walks through puddle after puddle. It's kinda soothing to kick violently at the water anyway.

_I haven't died._

She stops just short of the Crushinator, looking into the woods, tall, imposing trees. She blinks. Licks her lips. The parking lot is empty. She seems to be alone and Lauren knows that Edward is heading up to Alaska. More importantly, away from her. She walks a little bit forward and leaned against her door. She sighs.

"I am bacon," she says, softly, so much so that she can barely hear it over her blasting music, the  _Song of Storms_  soothing her, "But that doesn't mean that I will jump into the frying pan. Bring it on, Twi-world."

It was cathartic to say it aloud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Twilight, it belongs to its author and publishing company and its movie studio.
> 
> This is me just playing in its sandbox, making misshapen sandcastles.
> 
> Edit: 3 January, 2017
> 
> As promised, the second part of the 'First Sight' chapter!
> 
> *1 I once had first-period Health Class/Healthy Living Class in high school. It was glorious. While most of the classes were spent lecturing about the horrors of the body, every once and a while we'd go to the gym to do things. But morning period was where most of the alethic stuffed happened. So. The Gym and the football field/track were often in use. So we'd sit in the bleachers and do nothing, or go back to our tiny little portable classroom. It was, the best.
> 
> I hope you enjoy and please feel free to review!
> 
> ~Happy Reading,
> 
> Moon Witch '96


	7. Living in Suspended Animation

**Living In Suspended Animation**

" _We always start with good intentions. But lose ourselves along the way. This is the time that we let it go, These are the words that will take us home. Singing the song that's inside us all….If we don't open our eyes we're walking blind,"_  Nothing More, (2014).

It was the Friday, the last day of her first week back in high school that Lauren sacred the shit out of Charlie. It wasn't really intentional, after two weeks of living with the man, she tried to keep a sort of well, pleasantness between them. It wasn't really hard. Charlie was a nice guy and Lauren herself was always keen on being if not nice to people, polite and somewhat considerate. But, they were strangers- she knew that more clearly than her 'guardian' in this world, she was a twenty-year-old Mexican-American art student, he was a forty-one-year-old Police Chief of Forks, Washington. She was a woman and he was a man with no blood relation living together(there was nothing sexual about it, but Lauren, despite being the least conservative and religious of her family, had been raised as a Roman Catholic and it was freaking weird for her).

As far as Charlie knew she was his estranged seventeen-year-old daughter that despite having two weeks out of the year, he knew little to nothing about. That alone made it very difficult for both of them to deal with each other- Lauren was all about respect to authority and gratefulness towards those in the public service, but she was very much used to going to the beat of her own drum. Art college had only emphasized that, cultivated that. Her mother and father, while understanding and loving, didn't fully recognize her logic or thought process. But they had respected that and just had told her 'just don't hurt yourself in whatever you do'. She was a free spirit, mature sure, but prone to going against authority and questioning it because she felt she needed too. Charlie was an authoritative man, Police Chief at a young age and though very fair, was not used to people talking back to him, no matter how polite, as Lauren was. Logic and pointed questions from a 'seventeen-year-old' was not what he had expected of his daughter...

They were going to be growing pains no matter what between them.

They squabbled a bit over chores, scrambled to get the only bathroom first in the morning, bitched and moaned about each other over their more annoying habits: Charlie was a bit of a slob and while Lauren wasn't OCD about things(hell, she was a bit of a slob herself but she kept that to her room, not communal spaces!), she still had to badger the grown ass man about moving his plates and glasses back into the kitchen, it was his chore to do them after all and she didn't need to trip over the fifth glass of water he had leaving around, or his jackets that were strewn across the couches and the lazy boy. She wasn't Bella, she wasn't going to become a sudden live in maid just because she the younger girl had chosen to do so.

" _Charlie!" she hissed, blinking at the what seemed like the tenth glass she had tripped over._

_Charlie, at her, muffled hiss, peaked over the couch with a sheepish grin. His hair, curly and wild on his off day, was sticking up at odd angles. She pursed her lips at his apologetic expression._

" _Um, sorry?"_

_She put her hand on her hips, raising a brow._

" _I know, I know, pick up after myself."_

" _You're on dish duty!" she said pointedly, picking up the glass, squinting to check if she had chipped it or cracked it, "Why you keep leaving glasses on the ground is beyond me."_

" _I never agreed to that. You declared that you would cook and I would clean up afterward."_

" _Yeah, well, I have no idea how you managed to live this long without chores, Charlie."_

" _Hey, I managed without you!"_

_She gave him a look and he snorted._

" _Mostly."_

_She tsked._

" _Izzy, I'll pick up the dishes and wash them. Sorry, really, honey, I'm not used to the company."_

_Genuinely touched by his words, she reached over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. It was quick and it was more or less impulsive on her part, but his pleased grin was worth it._

" _It's okay, Charlie, just try not to murder me via various glassware on the floor."_

Lauren could admit that her showers were way too damn long- she took a complete hour in the bathroom, minimum, ten minutes for her pre-shower routine(brushing out her short hair, careful of any knots, using the restroom and waiting for her Nair to take effect), forty minutes in the actual spray, carefully washing, shaving any stray hairs that Nair had missed, and shampooing and conditioning her hair carefully and then used the last ten minute for her post-shower routine(drying, lotion, brushing her wet hair). It annoyed Charlie to no end and once he was comfortable enough with her, he had no trouble gripping about it.

" _You do not need an hour. You are wasting water!"_

_Izzy blinked, combing through her straight, short and very wet hair. She had been told this many times. But Shower Times were her time- she hadn't changed the habit for her own mother, surely not for her new and very unwanted roommate._

" _My showers are sacred, Charlie," she shrugged carelessly, "That stays the same. Try to beat me to the bathroom, Cheif!"_

_He grumbled all the way into the steamy restroom._

" _Just try not to use all the hot water!"_

_If she stuck her tongue out at his back, that was her business and her's alone._

Not to mention the noise and the smell that started once Lauren started doing art related things in her room- most of her things didn't smell but she had found these lovely little gauche paints that Mr. Garner(the owner of the art shop in Port Angeles and while he had attested that paint wasn't for anyone, he had insisted that she at least try these because it was right up her soft, less glossy aesthetics). While she wasn't much of a painter it was a fun exercise and Mr. Garner had given her the set at half-off with a wink. The noise came from her blasting her music during the day to keep a good rhythm or from her banging around at night(headphones in) but walking around the house and even rushing downstairs for water or a snack.

" _Seriously, Izzy, what the hell, it's three in the morning!"_

_Lauren blinked, heart pounding as she turned around to see the irate Police chief in nothing but a pair of shorts. Mustache Dad with abs, she mused with slight humor. She rubbed at her tired eyes. He looked a bit peeved. She didn't really blame him. It was late, or really, early and she must look a sight. She had been using her bare leg as a palette and it was covered in paint, as was her face and she had pushed back her hair with a rag, she was in booty shorts and a t-shirt full of holes, no bra much to her embarrassment._

_She licked her lips._

" _What?"_

" _Why are you up right now?"_

_Lauren shrugged, scratched absently at the dry paint on her leg._

" _The muse, she beckons, Mister Swan," she said happily, gesturing dramatically with her glass of water._

_The Chief did not look amused. He crossed his somewhat impressive arms over his chest._

" _Go to bed. Seriously. You have school in a couple of hours."_

_Lauren raised a brow._

" _Hey, I can handle this, Chief," she shrugged again, "Come on, you should go to bed, you have work in a couple hours yourself."_

_He sighed._

" _I would but someone is stomping down the stairs at odd hours in the night. I'm used to a quiet house."_

_Lauren felt a bit bad about that. After all, Charlie hadn't signed up for an insomniac artist as a roommate. He had wanted his seventeen-year-old, obedient daughter who slept at normal hours. Then again, Lauren hadn't wanted a forty-one-year-old as her own roommate. It had always been Mariam in her head, an easy, comfortable little apartment with just the two of them. But well, Lauren couldn't really change that, could she?_

" _We all have our growing pains about our situation, Charlie," she patted his arm, smiling faintly as she made her way out of the kitchen, taking a swig of her cold water, "Sorry to wake you."_

" _It's okay, Iz," he had called out to her, voice warm, "I'm just really glad I get to know you. Just try to be sneakier when it's past midnight, alright?"_

_Seriously, Charlie was too cool, she cooed at his statement. She just wishes Bella was less of an asshat in cannon._

" _Will do, Chief."_

But she felt otherwise that they were getting along great for two complete strangers with a twenty-year gap between them.

"So, big plans for the weekend, Chief?"

Charlie looked at her from over his newspaper, blinking.

"Going fishing with Billy down at the Rez tomorrow."

Lauren smiled, licking her lips as she realized what sort of opportunity was open to her. Now, Lauren always wanted to say that she was a relatively nice person. She was generally pleasant, polite to a fault and while not really actively social, friendly. She did not want drama. Avoided it like the plague. Simply because Lauren hated to burn any bridges. She wasn't malicious or actively cruel.

She could also admit that she was very manipulative. It was a habit she had picked up from being the physically weakest of her family, from being somewhat shy and unable to speak up as a child, she could never strong arm to get her way. But she could convince. Twist things around in her favor. She wasn't cruel or evil on it. Didn't want to make waves or resentment, she just did it to get her way.

It was mental play and on the most stubborn it was thrilling to move the along to her favor. However, she rarely ever did it on people she cared about. She rather talk things through with them. As nice as Charlie was, she barely knew him.

That meant it was game on.

"Who's Billy?" she asked innocently, chewing her eggs absently. The trick was to be only mildly interested, to work your way up you what you wanted.

_Mmm, slightly runny. Come on Chief, take the bait._

Charlie didn't look up from his newspaper, nodding absently.

He took the bait.

"Billy Black, the man that owned the truck before you... Do you remember him?"

Lauren, obviously did not. At least, not from meeting with the man in person. She does however damn know about the fact that he is the Chief of the Quileute Tribe, leader of the all-male council that oversaw the wolves(well in this universe, after all, in her's, a lot of the council was well, female). Wolves the size of horses. She remembered also that they were the only thing in cannon that… Well, could kill vampires other than vampires. So yeah. She remembered Billy Black in the sense that he could be her mother fucking savior if she played her cards right. She liked Charlie, he had been really sweet and had given her space as she was more or less a basket case at the moment.

But he couldn't change the fact that he was her meal ticket(God she would be broke and homeless without the man), that he had access to the only protection against vampires(oh her kingdom for a Buffy Summers with Mr. Pointy in hand).

It could save her life. And Lauren really wanted not to die.

"Vaguely," she hummed, absently, "You said he was in a wheelchair… Hard to image Billy Black in a wheelchair."

She sipped at her mildly okay green tea, the only brand available in a grocery store in Port Angeles. She had to drive fifty frackin' miles for  _tea_. She really hated 2005. She couldn't even find  _good tea_  and there was no Cherry Garcia to soothe her stress _(_ she was going to freakin' die _)_. But so far, she had found that she couldn't really do much about her situation. Both she and Mariam had come to the decision that with no clue as to how Lauren and her phone ended up in Twi- World, the only thing she could do was bide her time and wait for a clue that could take her home. It wasn't an active plan, but that was all they had.

But it also didn't mean Lauren couldn't wiggle around and make contingencies for shit not going the way of the novels.

"You played with his girls all the time until you were fourteen. Rebecca and Rachel. His youngest, Jacob used to trail after you like a puppy," Charlie laughed, "He was so happy when you joined the girl's little league team when you were nine. You stayed longer that summer… I think that was the last time you had fun here."

She blinked. That was… really sad. Charlie had such a wistfulness. It broke Lauren's heart. She may be a manipulative bitch but at least she wasn't malicious or capricious about it. Bella was so terrible. Especially since she had limited the time that she and her father had together.

"I remember," she said, lying without hesitation. She didn't like to lie, but she was really really good at it. She smiled brightly, "We used to make mud pies together?"

Charlie chuckled. The fact that she had stolen that from the movie didn't seem to matter.

"Down at the beach. But when you and Jacob started throwing them at Rachel and Rebecca, it was a mess. God, you were covered head to toe in sand and mud by the time Billy and I put a stop to it."

She laughed, sipping at her warm tea. She tried to invoke the feelings of nostalgia, thinking of Miriam and Andrew, her cousins, to make it sound naturally found. She wasn't exactly an actress but Charlie didn't seem to find it odd.

"I miss that. The Beach I mean. It feels like it's been forever since I've gone."

That much was true. She had last gone to the beach with her Mother during a vacation in Mexico, last summer. She remembered going by boat to the least touristy islands that were less than a mile offshore from the coastal city most of her maternal family lived in. She remembered good food, high-speed ride on a large banana boat and watching her stupid cousins jump off it in various ways and faintly wishing she had a swimsuit to tan her pale skin better in the sun. It had been a really long time since she had gone, as she had never ever gone to the Beach in the United States, despite living in two states with the largest coastlines. Charlie looked at her, face confused.

"I thought you said that beaches should be warm, which is why you hate Frist Beach. Why would you miss it?"

Lauren felt uncomfortable at the sadness she heard in his voice. She smiled, gently, trying to ease Charlie a bit.

"Nostalgia is funny, Charlie. It's been a long time since I've been in Forks."

He hummed, more of a grunt in acknowledgment, a frown on his face. Then, he went back to his breakfast. Lauren went for the kill.

"Charlie, would it be too much of a bother if I went fishing with you?" she asked, tentatively and she swore that Charlie nearly did a spit take with his coffee at her question.

He blinked rapidly at her.

"Who the hell are you and what the hell have you done with my daughter?"

Lauren flinched at the question,  _if only he realized how on target he was._

She made a show of wilting, parting her mouth and looking upwards through her eyelashes. Lauren was the master of the puppy dog look and with her eyes, beautiful as they were(her best feature by far and she knew it) she was especially good at it. Charlie's furrowed brow relaxed slightly as she looked at him. He blinked, eyes softening.

"So I can't go with you tomorrow?"

It was early morning, just before Charlie had to head off to the Station and they were having a nice enough breakfast of huevos rancheros, which, as Charlie had found out were delicious courtesy of her. Lauren knew she was a good cook, she did it fairly often in her own life and it was better than doing the dishes. She hated the dishes. She really loathed dishes.

"I didn't say that," said Charlie, looking at her with a strange look on his face, "But Be- Izzy, you don't like fishing."

Lauren felt no strong feelings for fishing. She had never been fishing in her life. The closest she had ever been from that was from her Uncle harpooning fish in the local river in Mexico, swimming after them, goggles on his head and a cigarette stub between his crooked teeth, even as she tried to put it out by splashing water at him. She had tried to help by catching fish in a bag and failed completely. She had never ever done the whole pole thing, with hooks and worms and stuff. She sighed, licking her lips and moving her hair out of her face.

"Charlie, I just really liked to go with you," she winced slightly at the blatant manipulation on her part, she was usually sneakier than that and dropped her shoulders as if in defeat, "Do you not want me too?"

Charlie beamed, full on beamed. Crinkled his warm brown eyes and pulled at the lines around his full mouth, looking as if Lauren had just told him he had won the lottery.

"We have to leave very early tomorrow, before dawn, can you handle that?"

Lauren nodded, smiling.

"Yeah, yeah I can. Wake me up please?"

"Yeah, no problem honey."

"Thanks, Charlie."

He finished his coffee, folded up his newspaper and with a kiss on her forehead, was off. In the past two weeks that she had been in Twi-World, both she and Charlie had gotten used to their increasingly casual displays of affection. It was less awkward on Charlie's part and Lauren tried to approach it with a mentality of those kisses she sometimes had to given in Mexico as greeting to complete strangers. That made it bearable on her part at least. She liked Charlie, but she had only known the man two weeks. Other than on impulse, she hardly ever offered him affection first.

"I'll get the dishes after dinner, sweetheart."

With that, Charlie was out the door and Lauren was grabbing her own backpack and purse to head to school. Things had settled into a depressingly easy routine for Lauren in her return to high-school- It had been so simple to fall back into the rhythm of the whole thing. Homework was easy, usually finished before Lauren even made it back to Charlie's, most of the kids at Forks high seemed to have lost interest quick enough and the quote on quote 'cool kids' seemed to have taken a liking to Lauren. She had a place to sit at least when it came to lunch, so she assumed socially she was doing very well for herself, even if it was because she was the 'new kid' more than anything on her part.

Her fellow Lauren was Queen B(also Queen Bitch) but seemed to have taken a great liking to Lauren(something Lauren was ever puzzled about, she was supposed to hate Bella after all), Jessica was the steady follower- a bit jealous but nice enough when Mike wasn't fawning over her, Angela was very nice and stayed very nice(she had a bit of humor which Lauren was gleefully feeding into), Mike was super sweet if a bit overzealous, Tyler was an ass that she regularly verbally spar with and Eric was a fellow geek that she nerded out with(He had seen  _Futurama_ , at least, found the fact that she had called her truck the Crushinator hilarious). Her teachers more or less left her alone, which was fine for her because she already had authority issues especially since at her real school, being on a first name basis with her Professors was completely normal and overall Lauren was fitting nicely into Forks High School.

She did enjoy the opportunity to drive on a regular basis, at least, it was getting easier with time as she got used to the permanently slick roads and the Crushinator and despite the uncertainty of who could be in those woods, they were _beautiful_. Tall evergreen even in the middle of winter. It was so unlike what she was used too- it looked very peaceful. Part of Lauren did wish to walk in them but wasn't so stupid. She had no idea how close to town did the Cullens hunt their food and had no desire of falling victim to a Nomad.

The day at school was pretty much similar to her week- Boring, doing homework between classes and trying not to lose patience at the sometimes annoying prattle typical to teenagers. Lauren hadn't been too keen on it when she had been in high school and found that she wasn't keen on it now.

"I mean, I know it's like months away, but I really am going to ask Mike to go with me to the Spring Dance," at this, Jessica turned narrowed eyes towards Lauren, assessing, measuring at her probably politely attentive expression,"I'm a strong independent woman expressing myself, right?"

Lauren herself sighed. It was lunch and she was munching on her cold sandwich absently. Mike wasn't at the table today, as apparently, the boys had to stay back for some sports thing. Eric didn't generally sit with them so it was just her and the three girls.

"If it really is a celebration of female independence at having the girl's ask, why don't you just Stag it?"

Jessica turned to her blinking her big, heavily marked up eyes at her. She fully turned, fuzzy yellow turtle neck cut off at the midriff and all.

"What?"

"Why don't we go as a group, no boys?"

Angela smiled faintly.

"That'd be kinda cool."

Lauren Mallory frowned.

"But, it's like tradition to go with a date that you ask yourself."

Lauren snorts.

"Count me out, if I go," she wrinkled her nose at the thought of dancing to current music with a bunch of teenagers(who were technically older than her if she thought too hard about it, in fact, Bella was technically nine years older than her), "I'm going without a date. And I doubt I'll go anyway."

"That's so weird," said Jessica pointedly, eyes narrowed, "I mean, don't you like anyone here? Do you hate dancing?"

The fact that they were all physically younger than her, or, well, dead, did not spark a romantic interest in Lauren. Not to mention the fact that they were literature characters, kinda put a cramp at that too.

"Nope. And I love to dance," she smiled slightly, "But they probably won't have anything I like to groove to anyway."

"What are you, a lesbian?" the slight disgust she heard in Jessica's voice made Lauren frown.

"Why are you saying it as if it's a bad thing? I mean, I don't find women sexually attractive, so I'm not a lesbian, but that's not the point. I don't really know anyone here, so how can I like them like as a boyfriend?"

Jessica pursed her lips.

"You have to like  _someone_."

Lauren sighed. It was really high school. She had gotten into very similar arguments with her friends when she had been their age. She had even made up a crush to get them off her back. Now, she saw no point.

"I really don't."

"Is it Emmett Cullen?" asked Angela, shyly, biting her lip.

Lauren M. was smirking. Lauren herself just blinked.

"What?"

"Your like the only one he talks to outside of his family!" said the Queen Bee, jumping up and down, green eyes sparkling. Not to discretely, she looked over at the Cullen table, where Rosalie looked distinctly stiff, she looked over at them at glared, the kind of glare you would have if you put too much pepper on your chicken. Mildly annoyed, but annoyed nonetheless, "And he's gorgeous!"

_Oh, fuck me and Vampire hearing._

"No. No, no, no, I do not like Emmett Cullen!" she said, shaking her head violently.

Emmett was staring as well, but just in surprise. With eyes wide and eyebrows raised.

"Denial is not just in Egypt," sang out Jessica, smirking in obvious amusement.

"He has a girlfriend. That is so unattractive," she snapped, barely stopping herself from pointing out that he was in fact, married to the beautiful and very drastically deadly vampire that was glaring in their direction. And guys in relationships were very unattractive to Lauren, "And they have both been really nice to me because their mom told them too!"

"Oh, so the fact that he's in a relationship is the only thing that unattractive about him? I mean, it's not like he's married to her!"

Lauren frowned.

"They really care about each other. Anyone with eyes can see that. I wouldn't be surprised if they got married right out of graduation. I'm so not into that. Emmett's nice and all, but I'm not a homewrecker!"

Lauren M. and Jessica just laughed, giggled really.

"Rosalie is a haughty bitch!" Lauren M. tossed her beautiful hair, she smiled, "If you like Emmett, climb that tree, Izzy, I'll help you! You're really nice!"

"Yeah, you should totally go for it. Break up the weird incest thing they have going on."

Angela looked mortified over bringing it up as she stared at her friends. She didn't stop them though. Lauren herself had enough of it. She felt red face, in both anger and embarrassment. They didn't know. They couldn't know that Emmett was happily married and well, a fucking Vampire. They were just shallow, silly girls in high school being shallow, silly girls in high school. It was one thing listening to them talk petty over her, it was another thing if they brought in other people. Decidedly people who could snap their necks. Stupid girls, who had offered their friendship despite everything.

Lauren wanted to cry.

"You know what, kiddos, if you want to be immature, that's your jazz. I'm leaving," she said pointedly and stood to gather up her things, "And by the by, I  _don't_  like Emmett Cullen. I don't like any boy here, I've only known everyone for a week. And right now, I don't even like you."

With that, despite their affronted faces, Lauren walked away.

**OOOOOOOOOOOO**

Rosalie McCarthy hated going to high school. She was a ninety-year-old woman stuck everlasting in the body of an eighteen-year-old. Perfect, every woman's dream. She had watched the nation she had been born in raise and fall in wake of the Depression, the Second Great War, its triumph during the years of the Cold War and had suffered through it all stuck as a cold, dead thing. She had been turned in the day she had been betrayed, abused and soiled by the man(and his friends) that would have been her husband. She met the love of her existence on his dying day, seen his beautiful, dying face and couldn't bare to leave him. She had lived, loved, suffered for many years and was immortal.

Frankly, high school was so utterly dull that it made the monotony of eternity, even with Emmett, a little bit harder to bare.

It didn't help that most humans were so- well, they were mostly the same. Ever since Carlisle and Esme had started insisting that they attend school for humans, well, Rosalie had to suffer through immature boys and girls at the cusp of adulthood, moving through their small, predictable, wonderful lives that Rosalie could never have- It never changed. They never did. It was always the same, just repeated situations, their journeys echoing across the country and the years. So when the typical popular girls started gushing about Emmett-  _her husband-_  it was well, normal. She was annoyed, yes, not because they were fawning after her husband, exactly, but because they expected her to be annoyed and they were only trying to be 'helpful' to Izzy Swan.

She was an odd kid, thought Rosalie as she placed down her art supplies( _she had wished that Forks was big enough to have a music class other than band or orchestra, she liked it much better than art_ ). Was a little more mature than most. Oddly, she had defended them- the outcasts, but curiosity over the popular children. She seemed to go to her own beat, which was rare at her young age. People were usually so eager to fall into the status quo- to follow into their roles that echoed across the nation and the years. She eyed her as she came in, grim face, headphones already within her ears, loud and blasting:

" _My boy builds coffins for the rich and the poor. Kings and queens; they've all knocked on his door. Beggars and liars, gypsies and thieves. They all come to him 'cause he's so eager to please. My boy builds coffins he makes them all day. But it's not just for work and it isn't for 's made one for himself. One for me too,"_ it was a beautiful, full and rich voice that sang- It reminded Rosalie faintly of Stevie Nicks, one of her favorite artists.

She stared, blinking rapidly as the girl sat down, lips parting slightly as she mouthed along with the song- it was probably a favorite of her's then. She was looking tired- the girl obviously never got much sleep as she had permanent bags beneath her lovely eyes. Rosalie frowned as Emmett grinned in her direction, but the girl was oblivious, focused on spreading out her materials for their latest art assignment. She only waved absently in their direction, not even looking up before she set to work. Ms. Garner more or less gave the girl free range, as she was the most passionate about the material, as well as the most technically skilled. She didn't even pay attention to the small lecture other than to peek at the teacher before she set to work.

Her movements were all economical- her hand moved quickly but without hesitation as she went across the large page. Rosalie found it a tad more interesting than the teacher's comments on how wonderful Picasso was. Emmett was staring as well, his large hand resting on her thigh as he drew the 'warm-up' exercise with his less dominant arm. She hummed, pleased, and then spoke in rapid fast, vampire way:

"So, do you think the girl has a crush on you?"

Emmett snorts.

"I doubt it. Humans with crushes usually look in our direction more than she does."

The girl, oblivious and focused, didn't even look up. Some of the humans did- those with better hearing or without headphones could almost feel their speech- It was at a higher frequency than they could hear but the air around them vibrated all the same. She paused, tapped her pencil to her lips before she grabbed her kneaded eraser and swept it across a bit of her initial form.

"She just seems to be… Nice," said Rosalie and she did not hide her frown.

Emmett sighed.

"You think Esme set her on us?" there was doubt in his voice, but he was letting her speak her piece.

"She needs to stop meddling. We're all adults… I love her but if we don't want to interfere with humans-" she breathed deeply through her nose at the feelings of resentment and anger that clawed at her chest, made something scratchy that had nothing to do with the burn she felt at Izzy Swan's  _delicious_  scent being so near, "If she and Carlisle want to play human that's fine but I'm tired of high school."

Emmett hand squeezed her thigh, softly, kneaded the softer skin there. She felt the tension that she hadn't even known was there melt away.

"You want to leave again?"

It was a tempting thought. It always was. Rosalie always would care for her family, even her extended 'cousins' in Denali. But sometimes it was just too much- Between Alice and Edward, even to some extent Jasper, she felt drowned in people who could twist and pull her to follow their lead. Edward was the favorite, the first son and the mind reader who plucked whatever he heard from her mind. Alice the magic-eight ball who could tell her what she would wear to what she and Emmett would break in their next 'sexual escapade'. Jasper knew how she felt and because of it so did Edward. There was no privacy amongst them… She respected Carlisle even if she loathed him at times and Esme was a soothing balm. Leaving always seemed to be the best option.

But she couldn't deny that she would miss them all, even Edward. So many years together and it was odd to be apart because they were comfortable more than she ever cares to admit aloud.

"No," she frowned down at the replica of the small image on the screen, she had scribbled on her small sketchbook, "Not yet. Maybe after school ends."

Emmett hummed a disappointed note.

"Take that fifth honeymoon. Milan or Paris?" he pressed, waggling his thick, dark brows at her. She found herself smirking despite herself.

"Too sunny and it smells of human urine now."

"What about Tokyo or Hokkaido? It's on the list of places we've yet to make love on, babe."

She giggled.

"Maybe. The fashion is picking up there and can you image all the car factories we can tour?"

He smiled.

"That's my girl."

She wanted to kiss him. It was always so hard to stop herself- but they were in the wrong company. She frowned, sighed, wishing she could even just lean against her husband. But she couldn't, they were even technically married in this identity yet… She frowned, dropped her hand on her lap and flipped his large hand over. He let her- her husband, the strongest among them- let her flip his hand as easily as one would lift a piece of paper and let her twine her fingers into his. It was one of the reasons she had come to love him so much- He was so much stronger than her, then most-

But he was the gentlest soul she had ever met. He never took from her, nothing she wouldn't willingly give. And he always gave to her. No hesitation, no resistance. He gave and gave and gave to her. He didn't worship her as Royce supposedly had, he was her partner and her King as she was his Queen. They were equals and that was made her love him above anything, even if he resented himself for never being able to give her a child- She could never, ever fault him for such a thing. After all, he hadn't been the one to rape and beat her within an inch of her life, nor had he been Carlisle…

" _Please,_ " _her voice was a croak, a silent hiss that barely passed through her mangled jaw._

_Golden eyes stared, hesitant and growing darker by the minute. Rosalie didn't know what she was pleading for. She just couldn't help but cry and plead for the pain and humiliation to stop. Her entire body throbbed and her breath was a wheeze- She was just so_ _**cold** _ _. Royce had ripped her jacket clean off, the one he had bought her, ripped the delicate buttons clean off. His friend, she thinks she recognized him as the Police Chief's son, had ripped her the front part of her dress._

_Faintly, all she could think was that it couldn't end here, that her mother was waiting for her. That her father had promised to buy her that lovely violet dress that she had seen in the seamstress shop just the other day. She didn't understand why Royce would-_

" _Please."_

" _Shh, it's going to be alright," said the Doctor Cullen, dark eyes bright, "Just bare with the pain for a little wild, poor thing."_

" _Please."_

"Rosie, come back to me."

Rosalie blinked, trembling as she looked into the dark eyes of her husband. She breathed, deeply, forcing her lungs to work. Izzy Swan's scent hit her, sweet, underneath all the artificial smells of her soap, shampoo or lotions, she smelled deliciously sweet, made her throat distinctly burn like it was on fire. She focused on the sensation, not losing herself but using that sharp pain to remind herself where she was. Emmett squeezed her hand, gently and she squeezed back, in quick, three successions, the sign they had developed to show that she wasn't stuck in her memories anymore.

"I'm … I'm not fine," she whispered honestly, she would never lie to her husband, "I was on the street again, with Carlisle over me-"

"Where are you now?" he asked, patiently.

She blinked.

"Forks. Forks high school. Ms. Thomas- No, Ms. Garner's art class. I'm sitting in the back. With you right next to me," she squeezed his hand tighter, "And Izzy Swan sits in front of us."

She looked at the girl to confirm it, who was still drawing. Izzy paused, looked up, maybe sensing her gaze. Her eyes, bright and an intense gray locked with her's. She frowned, a small pull of her small lips. She blinked and then popped out an earphone.

"Everything alright? You look a little pale?" she asked, her voice was hesitant, her small, fine brows bunched together.

Rosalie blinked again, a hysterical giggle passing past her clenched teeth. She is taking in the features of her round face, trying to center herself to understand she was  _here_. She hardly had any acne, just a few spots minuscule on her chin and small, pointed nose. Rosalie as a human had been the same, but she always covered it up with a little bit of powder, the girl didn't bother. She had freckles- not much, just a speckled here and there, two at the corner of her eye, on her bottom and top lip, at the top of her forehead. She had rounded features, vaguely foreign features that Rosalie couldn't quite place-

"Yeah," Rosalie answered, trying to muster up her usual haughtiness to off put the girl, to make her stop from noticing that she was having an episode, but her voice is off even to human ears, "I'm feeling a little… Sick."

The girl made a face, nostrils flaring, mouth twisting and then she raised her hand. Ms. Garner came over, smiling.

"Rosalie isn't feeling well. Maybe she and Emmett should home," she glanced at the clock and nodded, "I know this class is important, Ms. G but their brother Edward is home with the flu if Rosalie has something similar- "

The older woman frowned but nodded.

"Well, I suppose it should be fine if you don't make a habit of it. Tell you what, Izzy, take them both home, they usually ride with their brother and sister and I don't want Rosalie to stay longer than she should," the older woman looked at Rosalie with concern, watching her with a furrowed brow.

Izzy's face paled and she licked her lips quickly. She blinked rapidly.

"Um-"

"Is that alright with you two?"

Emmett answered for both of them, surprising Rosalie by agreeing. But when she looked at him, he shot her a concerned glance that made her heart clench. Izzy nodded and set to putting away her things.

"You're the best Ms. G," said the girl as she grabbed Rosalie's things as well, hardly struggling with the weight of her things.

"Work on that project at home, Izzy, I want that ready for V.A.S.E. in a few weeks, you got it?"

The girl nodded.

"I'll have it done before that."

With that, with their things in hand, the girl holding the project in a portfolio underneath her arm, they walked out with whispers following them. Rosalie leaned heavily into Emmett's side, relishing in the hold he had on her waist. Izzy Swan just simply ignored the whispers, leading the way. She turned to them with a slight frown.

"You guys need anything from your lockers?"

"We can wait in the car for our brother and sister. You can use this chance to ditch and go home," started Rosalie, but Emmett squeezed her waist in slight disagreement.

Izzy licked her lips, shaking her head.

"No, it's fine. It makes me more comfortable knowing you guys are at home. Can you text or leave a note so they know not to wait for you?"

Emmett made a show of taking out his phone and texting Jasper as they walked towards the parking lot. Izzy surprised them by taking out an umbrella, large enough for all three of them, Emmett took it and let it hang over them both to avoid the slightly heavy downfall. They made their way to her old truck, a faded old bulbous pickup that Rosalie would peg at being a 1953 model, maybe 1954. It was in horrible condition rusted with tires that looked a little stripped down- but it was beautiful nonetheless. Rosalie, despite herself, was already imaging fixing it up, stripping down the steel to clean off the rust, painting it a lovely fire engine red or turquoise-

"Sorry for the mess," she mentioned as she opened it up, and gestured for them to go inside first.

Emmett went first placing him flush against the door before Rosalie went after him. The cab was small and neither she and Emmett were exactly petite as Izzy was. But they made it work, Rosalie in her husband's lap as he stretched out, Izzy perched in the driver's seat. She placed both her purse and portfolio behind the seats, keys jingling in hand. The car was not a mess- in fact, it was quite organized. It smelled pleasant enough, a black ice freshener infused with the scent of its owner, a floral sort of scent and had a faint lingering smell of tobacco, mint and something else that Rosalie did not like underneath it all, weeks old. The previous owner maybe?

"You can put that behind the seat or underneath it," she said, pointing to the basket in Rosalie's hands and lap. It was full of miscellaneous things, like lotion and travel-sized deodorant, Rosalie shrugged, before she placed it underneath the seat, next to a first aid kit.

"What's so important that you have to padlock it?" asked Emmett, jangling the lock on her glove department.

The girl smiled.

"A map to the fountain of None-of-Your-Business, Cullen," she said pleasantly, no heat or malice, just a polite warning as she started up the engine, "Now I have no flippin' clue where you guys live so point-me!"

"Harry Potter, really?"

The girl laughed.

"That fact that you recognized it tells me everything I need to know, Emmett."

Rosalie sighed and directed her. She started the truck, a large rumble that made the entire cab vibrate. Rosalie frowned as the girl carefully pulled out, driving slowly and with caution around the many cars around her. When they were on the highway, she pressed forward with more speed, but not much. About sixty-four miles per hour, Rosalie listened carefully to the engine, hearing the slight pop and wheeze in its loud rumble as she pressed the gas pedal.

"Where did you get this thing?" she found herself asking, bored as she fiddled with the radio. Original to the car and surprisingly still functional.

The only station they could pick up was one that played older songs. Patsy Cline crooned from the old speakers.

"Charlie bought the Crushinator off of a friend, I want to say he bought it in the eighties? I don't know much about cars I'm afraid. Just that this one is from the 50's and that it's mine!" replied Izzy, both hands on the wheel, eyes intently forward, her voice was bright and enthusiastic about the last part.

Rosalie remembers her own first car- a 1935 little Buick that she still owned, lovingly kept in Tennessee in the property Emmett had bought for them for their first wedding. She believed Emmett had inherited it just last year when his 'grandfather' had passed.

"It's a 1953 Chevy pickup truck and the engine sounds as if it's been patched together a few times, it probably needs maintenance. The tires need replacement too," Rosalie said, frowning at the girl.

Izzy frowned at the road.

"Fuck. Know any good mechanics? I don't want my Crushinator to die."

"Is that a  _Futurama_  reference?" said her husband, sounding delighted, at Izzy's nod, he fist pumped, "And there's no better mechanic than my Rose. She takes care of all of our cars."

The girl blinked.

"Really? Cool. I envy any grease monkey."

"I can take a look at your truck tomorrow if you're available and if you want. I won't charge you. Think of it as thank you for taking us home and getting us out of class."

If there was anything Rosalie hated, it was being in someone's debt. She knew that Izzy had sensed something off about her in class, not just her being 'sick'. The fact that the girl had known to get her out of the situation was… Kind of her. She was observant and that was dangerous, but not really worrisome. Izzy Swan seemed like she had a good head on her shoulders- many people like that would not make the leap to vampires. They were pulling into their long drive now, the girl driving her truck carefully through the twists and bends of the road with the air of someone who didn't drive often.

"I'd really appreciate it. Can I call you after I get home from La Push? Charlie is taking me fishing and I have no idea when I'll get back... We could always do it Sunday if-"

"Saturday is fine," said Emmett, smiling, "You got a sticky note or something to put down our number?"

"In the basket."

He wrote down his personal cell phone, smiling. Rosalie wondered faintly if Esme was getting what she wanted. They were interacting with a human after all.  _Becoming more of what they once where, even though she felt a faint throb in her chest that she would never get her humanity back. She was cold and froze until someone tared her apart and burned the pieces, with Emmett to soothe the bad memories and to hold her until then_.

The thought made her frown. The fact that Edward- Edward of all people who touted his eighty-year-old streak from drinking human blood so proudly(Emmett was  _so_ ashamed of it- the people he had killed when he had been a newborn: they had been unprepared for him, it had been by chance she had found him broken and bleeding the claws of the bear still in his stomach. And those two afterward- the woman that had smelled so sweet that he hadn't even thought of it as he had only smelled them and then they were dead and drained in his arms as he sobbed) had run off with his tail between his legs to Denali because of this girl…

Well.

"Is there a reason you started talking to us?" she asked and the girl blinked.

"Um, because you sit in front of me in art class?"

"You waved to us," Rosalie pressed, "On the first day of the semester. Most people either ignore us or just stare. Why?"

The girl laughed.

"Esme mentioned it to me you would help me settle in if I asked," she quirked a brow, and continued in an honest, soft voice, "But from what you said you guys were anti-social. It just felt polite to wave… And to talk to you when I saw you guys were in my class. I can stop if you want. I know someone people are more perfectly content with a small circle of friends."

" _Defiantly_  doesn't have a crush on me," Emmett said too high for Izzy's ears.

Rosalie nudged him on the arm, a small smile on her lips.

_What an odd person._

"No, it's fine. Maybe it's okay to expand our circle… Just this once."

The girl smiled, faintly.

"So, I'm a Mongol."

"What?"

"This world history web series that I liked when I was younger, any time it mentions a general rule, like say no one has ever successfully invaded Russia, it had a montage of the one exception. The Mongols," she laughed, a pleasant sound from the back of her throat.

Rosalie found herself smiling, larger. The girl knew her history as well.

"You're just a dork full of references!" cried Emmett and he laughed.

"A dork is a whale penis," she quipped, and with that, she made it to the large meadow that leads to their home in Forks, drove straight up to the house with a slightly crooked park,"And may I say you have a lovely home?"

Rosalie laughed at her choppy transition. Inside, she could hear Esme laughing as well.

"Maybe you should come in?"

Izzy shook her head, while Rosalie elbowed Emmett at the stupid comment. If Edward, when he came back from Denali, were to smell the girl in the house… Or even Jasper… That would be horrible. It was bad enough that they smelled of her, the small room of the cab making it inescapable from her scent and the warmth her body radiated.

"Thanks, but I gotta go cook dinner for the Chief, feel better Rosalie."

They grabbed their things and made their way inside, Izzy watching them the whole way. By the end of it, Rosalie was being carried by Emmett. Esme was in the foyer, waiting for them. Her eyes were bright and she was beaming at them, looking towards the window as the rumble of Izzy's truck drove away. She then turned to both of them, her happy face morphing into concern.

"Why did Izzy Swan drive you here?"

"Rosalie-" Rosalie gripped her husband's arm, twice, asking him to lie(she didn't need Esme's mothering at that moment), and he continued without missing a beat, "Was bored so we made it as if she was sick. Izzy told the teacher and she asked her to drive us home so Jasper and Alice would have the car."

She tsked.

"You already missed enough school during the sunny days. You shouldn't do that," she lectured softly.

Rosalie made a show of rolling her eyes and gripped Emmett's arm again.

"Well, mom, we're going upstairs to get freaky."

Esme shook her head as Emmett took her upstairs. She went to her office on the first floor- a fake show of privacy as she put on music to tune them out somewhat. They did not make love- not as soon as they reached their room. No, Emmett eased her into it. It was never had any force with them, despite the zealous that they usually made love with. It was always sweet, heavy and heated between them. Emmett was a gentle giant by definition and it was always by her prompting that it got rougher, hard enough to break buildings if they so wanted. But at first, Emmett only kissed her body, slowly, massaged away the tension and the memories.

"I got you, babe."

Rosalie wished she could cry. It was one of the other things she missed the most of about being human.

"You do," she whispered to him, cradling his face in her hands, "You have me. And I have you."

He smiled, dimples flashing, tracing words of love against her skin. She sighed, closed her eyes as she leaned into her husband of sixty-eight years and let him love her tenderly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Twilight, it belongs to its author and publishing company and its movie studio.
> 
> This is me just playing in its sandbox, making misshapen sandcastles.
> 
> So I spilt the 'First Sight Chapter' because it was too damn long and I knew I wouldn't write a chapter that long again- Lo and behold the next damn chapter decided to be long as hell. I blame Rosalie. She was really fun to write- and Her P.O.V. was only supposed to be like a couple pages but then suddenly I was at twenty-three and nearly nine thousand words.
> 
> Yay.
> 
> So, for the most part, I've been writing this by free balling it a bit for the first few chapters, but I've gone and gotten fairly organized now. I've made a calendar for the events of Twilight- and then how the events of Eventide play into that timeline, as well as started planning a little bit ahead as far as chapters go. I hope to at least cover the events of at least Twilight with this story, but most likely go forward into the rest of the books as well. Keep in mind, since Lauren is not Bella, the stupidity that is New Moon will not occur. At all. Seriously. That was really stupid, I hated how much Bella stopped after Edward left her. The entire time I was reading it and I was twelve at the time, I kept rolling my eyes. I only ever read through the entire book once- simply because Bella was just so fucking unbearable for the middle part of the book because it's basically her whining for like a few hundred pages about how broken she is and how much it hurts to think about Edward. If there is something I can't stand in a protagonist is complaining. And though Bella did it a lot in the first book it wasn't as obvious or it just went over my head.
> 
> But I digress. Eventide will cover the events of Twilight to Breaking Dawn. Obviously differently and with no creepy babies. At all. This is a rewrite as well as a critique of the Twilight universe. So far I just have the three months of the time in which Twilight occurs planned out: and yes, the entire book only ever covers from January 18th to 25th, skips February entirely, March 2nd to March 18th and then May when Edward takes Bella to Prom in the Epilogue. I will not follow suit. Because that is time that can be used to develop characters more than just whine that Edward is ignoring Bella. So there's that.
> 
> Something else I want to point out- Anything not in the four Twilight novels is non-canon in regards to includes Midnight Sun, The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner and the Twilight Illustrated Guide. Why? Because all of those leave a series of plot holes, retcons that more or less make Twilight more of a mess than it already is. Here's the thing, I don't hate Twilight at all. I could, it'd be really easy to hate it. I like it fine, why else would I be writing fanfiction for it, why else would I own the books? But I'm not immune to the issues within in it and all the aforementioned 'supplements' of the Twilight Universe just don't mesh well. It's kinda the reason I'm writing Eventide, after all, a both critique and a rewrite all in one.
> 
> So my reasons why things are not canon: Midnight Sun is of course, never been published and hence non-canon. The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner more or less... Is stupid. Seriously. It's really stupid. I mean, within in the book, we are supposed to sympathize with Bree, but she is literally having a God-damn conversation with someone while they sit on corpses of people. The whole Boat Massacre would be hella hard for people to fucking ignore, that would have been declared a National fucking Emergency! Not just mentioned in Eclipse as 'a series of unresolved murders' in the paper. So, I declare that stupid shit non-canon for Eventide. As for the Illustrated Guide- Well its crap. It's a shitty guide. Most of it is just retcons or rehashed things that Meyer had already posted on either the Lexicon(Free, much more detailed to boot) or on her own website. I own a PDF copy, which I did not pay for simply because it is not worth the paper its written on.
> 
> So, rant aside, what does that mean for Eventide? Simple. Any information not provided in Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse or Breaking Dawn is hereby declared non-important, non-canon and subject tweaking. As you can tell with Rosalie's P.O.V., I already changed things. More on that later.
> 
> So, I hoped you liked the chapter and I would love for you guys to drop a review. Your support means the world to me and I enjoy reading both praise and critiques(keep it, civil people). Any suggestions or questions can be addressed there, or feel free to P.M. me.
> 
> Happy Reading,
> 
> Moon Witch '96


	8. Men Need Their Girl Time

**Men Need Their Girl Time**

" _Life flies by in seconds. You're not a baby... you're my friend… You'll be a lady soon," Gracie Ben Folds, 2015_

Charlie Swan was beyond ecstatic when he learned that his daughter wanted to finish off her high school years with him. It was the best gift she could have given him for Christmas, more so than the fifty dollar gift card to Circuit City with a small note that told him to put it down for a new T.V. (he had just bought a new flat-screen for himself, before that and instead used the money to buy a fancy new VCR and 'DVD' combination instead).

He wished he had known it had been a gag gift beforehand as all he had felt at seeing the glossy red piece of plastic and the small ripped piece of notebook paper was just plain tired(It was the reason he had finally made up with Billy, after the whole Cullen business had put their friendship to the test for the last two years, he just wanted his daughter to at least feel something for him- but it seemed that wasn't going to happen and he needed his best friend). The call he had gotten on her telling him to sign her up for Forks High School had been beyond incredible- He had paid for the flight himself and to save her the trouble of going down from Seattle on the bus, made sure it was a connecting flight to Port Angeles.

Isabella- well _Izzy_ \- was not what he had expected. Of course, that was because he didn't know his daughter very well.  _And God did that fucking sting._ She had a bit more humor than he expected, smiled a little more then he remembered, had different hobbies- He didn't even know she had liked to draw, let alone if she was any good at it and it seemed to be a big part of her life( _she was good at it, showed him a portrait she had done of him, gripped how she couldn't get his expression quite right but all Charlie could think was that it was the most wonderful thing and he was amazed she had made it with her own two hands_ ). She still read a lot, which was comforting, but that wasn't all, she listened to music(loudly), she drew and watched all of his crappy video cassettes with glee:

" _You have the freaking original Mummy on VCR!" she cried, bouncing up and down, as he walked into the door, putting up his gun, keys in hand._

_Charlie blinked, watching as his daughter lifted the mentioned movie, he thinks it had belonged to his father because it's a black and white movie- and his daughter, the kinda mopey, sullen Isabella Swan squealed. Honest to God squealed as she clutched the old video cassette to her chest. It wasn't even the newest movie- the one that had come out four years ago. He had watched it last night after she had gone to her room and blasted some song that involved something about poking her face? It had been a bit garbled and he had tuned it out with the movie._

" _Um, yeah?"_

" _You've been holding out on me Chief!" she pointed dramatically, grey eyes bright, "What else you got?"_

_Carefully, he leads her to the small closet underneath the stairs and pulled the cord on the light. Charlie wasn't much for collecting- but his parents had been. They had collected as many as they could, bought particularly the entire inventory of the Video Store before they had passed. The older they had gotten, the more muddled their minds had gotten, the more they had watched them, kinda focused solely on it. And it had kept them kinda calm, immersed them more than talking to him had in the end._

" _CHINGA ME*!" she cried, and he blinked, because that had been Spanish, and he hadn't even known that Izzy could speak any amount of Spanish,"This is amazing! Is that Predator? Total Recall? Hell yes!"_

" _You like Arnold Schwarzenegger?" and now he was staring at his daughter as she had grown a second head. Isabella hated action movies._

_Right?_

" _Get to the CHOPPA!" she screeched, voice deepening and mimicking the actor's sometimes ridiculous accent, nabbing several of the movies and grabbing his arm in answer._

_He had laughed his way to the couch, and laughed even harder as he watched her get very into the movie, muttering underneath her breath the lines and making a sweet, thick caramel popcorn for the 'movie marathon that's happening right now Chief!'. They watched Predator and ate their dinner, a nice sweet chicken Isabella had made in the oven with a side of steamed vegetables and rice._

_But what Charlie loved beyond the delicious food that wasn't dinner food was the fact that his baby was sitting next to him as they enjoyed something together._

She was much more disrespectful to authority- not really acting like a seventeen-year-old in her attitude. But it was in a way that seemed to more of an intellectual decision versus teenage rebellion. She needed the whys of a command, request or law. It wasn't an attitude he had expected from someone raised by Renee, but it was the one that Izzy had nonetheless. It was…

Strange, to say the least.

The conversation they had had in the car about the man she called 'dad' was… Heartbreaking. He had never wanted another man stepping up into the place that was meant for him, he almost resented the dead man for being that person for his little girl. But at the same time, he understood that Izzy had found someone to care for and that person was now gone. Maybe her coming to Forks had been an escape from the death of a man he had never met- the man she called her father and watched her grow up in the way that Charlie wished he had- but his baby girl was in pain regardless of the source and Charlie was sure as hell not gonna let her suffer through it alone.

Izzy was a stranger.

It was hard to swallow sometimes. It startled him when he would look at her- seeing a person that he had thought he knew so well. Charlie expected that little girl that would throw mudpies at the Black girls and make faces as he speared worms with hooks. He expected the girl who would ignore him in California as she soaked up the sun or read all day in the hotel room. The girl who smiled at him and called him 'Chief' was new to him. She tried to talk to him, asked about his interests, actively did what little homework she had in the living room, spread out on the worn carpet while he watched the game or movie to spend time with him. Nagged him about his 'bachelor habits' and cooked meals for him, ate with him and asked about his day.

She was trying- Isabella had never tried before. He wondered if it was a byproduct of losing someone close to her if this warm girl with a quick wit and a sarcastic edge was the person that grief had changed Izzy into. Or if this was the person his daughter had always been but had never gotten to know.  _Never been allowed to know._  She was strange but trying, at the very least to be his friend and at the very least trying to live with him with some semblance of happiness.

He would admit that her sleeping habits were a pain in the damn ass.

He was a cop. He was a light sleeper from many nights at various stake outs- the slightest noise had him bolting up. Her wandering around at night, even in the house, made him a little uneasy. The fact that Izzy was a restless person and hardly batted an eye at being up for twenty-four hours was concerning. He half wanted to ask Doctor Cullen if it was normal for a seventeen-year-old to have such a strange sleep cycle… But mostly he was annoyed at the fact that she was getting better at sneaking past him. Izzy might be a good kid, but she was still a teenager and if he caught her sneaking out of the house she was grounded until she turned twenty-five.

"You asked me to wake you up, Iz," he called, somewhat amused to see her downstairs, on the couch watching infomercials. In her lap was a book, something that was normal more often than not- she must've turned on the T.V. to get some background noise.

She was anxious like that, always chattered when there wasn't anything to fill the noise. She hadn't been like that before, or maybe she had simply never wanted to be comfortable with him before. He could admit that he hated the thought. He had busted out his old music cassettes more then once to ease her a bit, watched with some amusement as that had relaxed her and made her hum along to his music( _he would have never pegged her to like Thin Lizzy or Rush, but he had caught her singing along to Tom Sawyer, baldy and had joined her while she laughed out a couple more lyrics_ ).

She looked over, smiling sheepishly. She stood, dressed in high waisted shorts that looked to be something that was more appropriate in Arizona with thin, black tights underneath that were so sheer that he could still tell the creaminess of her skin, and a large green sweater( _Izzy was surprisingly good with the cold, wore shorts and skirts without look uncomfortable)_. Her short mop of hair, wet, was pushed back by a black headband and she looked fairly awake despite the fact that it was about four in the morning. Around her waist was a hoody, black of course. His daughter seemed to have grown fond of the darker colors, which was a contrast to the pastels and jewel tones she had liked before.

"I set my alarm so I could take a shower," she shrugged, padded over in thick, red socks with little green dinosaurs on them. While she seemed to like the cold she also hated cold feet or at least cold toes, "Are we having breakfast before we go?"

"Billy buys breakfast, I buy lunch," he replied, shaking his head, "You should put on your shoes, Izzy."

She wiggled her sock covered feet. She liked to walk around barefoot more often than not- In fact, he rarely saw her wear shoes inside the house if she could help it. He wondered where she had gotten the habit. Renee had loved shoes when they were married- It was one of the few things she had asked for him to send to her from the house as the divorce had been finalized.

"I honestly have no idea what to wear shoe wise."

"Something comfortable. Don't worry about it being slip proof- I still own my small motor boat. Not much opportunity for walking."

"Rodger that Chief- Oh, I made coffee!"

She brandished two thermoses, taking them from the end table by his crappy couch.

"That's my girl," he took the one she offered, beaming.

"Black as hell and no sugar!" she called as she went upstairs for her shoes.

"Thanks!" he called back, bringing it up to his lips. It was piping hot and warm, the smell alone makes him more alert as he waited for his daughter.

She came downstairs with his old satchel slung across her shoulders, laced up boots and sipping at her coffee. He was impressed when she only stumbled a bit on the last step of the stairs. Izzy apparently had gotten over the clumsy thing since he last saw her. She did trip- but it was rare and more to do with her being unused to the slippery streets of Forks than her ability to find things to trip over. They took her truck, him at the wheel with a quick promise that he would pay her back for the gas. She blasted the radio, humming along to Elvis in the dark streets as they drove. She was tapping her toes against the dashboard.

"Feet down," he told her, frowning.

She didn't miss a beat.

"My truck, my rules. My feet can go where they please," she tapped along to  _Heartbreak Hotel_ in emphasis.

"Izzy, it's dangerous. We get into an accident and that angle could severely hurt your spine. Your set-belt will do jack-shit," it was strange that he swore so much around Isabella, wouldn't have dared to a few weeks ago, but she was so relaxed about it and even quoted some damn article about how swearing helped reduce stress and could lead to lower risk of heart disease and ulcers, and had proceeded to state that it wasn't like a swear word was bad per say, just the society to conditioned to believe to be faulty, that he had decided to drop the stately act. If his seventeen-year-old daughter wasn't offended by it and did it herself, he found it much easier to not think too much about anymore, "Feet down"

She sighed but complied with a small smile.

"Well reasoned, Charlie."

He smiled at the compliment and at the soft pat she gave his arm. He laughed as she sang along to Elvis, badly and off-key, forgetting a few words here and there. She smiled at him, flashing her straight teeth that he had helped pay for, beaming as she belted out loudly and almost obnoxiously.

_I could get used to this._

**OOOOOOOOOOO**

Lauren was a little wary and more than a little nervous, when the door to Chief Billy Black's home, opened. Her heart was pounding and she felt nervous sweat gather at her spine. Especially when she saw the one who opened it was the man himself. She didn't know what to expect, at all and had risked relapsing into her coffee addiction by drinking a bitter, cheap brew that was in Charlie's kitchen(loaded it up with a shit-ton of sugar and milk). She had weaned herself off of it, her first year of college when she had noticed she was drinking two pots of coffee by herself and shaking when she didn't have a mug in hand. But her nerves are too high strung now, what could be potentially ridding on Billy Black was her  _life_ so down the hatch the devil drink went. She was half tempted to pace, once Charlie parked next to the house and dragged her to the front door.

But what she found was a man, who was already dressed in simple jeans and a button-down flannel, had bright, alert eyes that were so dark brown they looked black and stared straight at her. He had darkly tanned skin beyond just his copper-toned complexion, hair a little past his shoulders in a fine, dark color, and like Charlie looked surprisingly built for a man that was in his forties. Immediately, once he saw her peeking over Charlie's shoulder, he beamed, honest to God beamed, flashed teeth that were white and straight.

"As I live and breath, Isabella Swan!" he said, voice deep and booming. Part of Lauren registered that his voice was very nice.

She was a sucker for a nice voice. Billy Black's was deep, rich and rumbled like thunder. She smiled, a little timidly as she came to stand in front of the man. The man who commanded respect and could save her from the vampire that thought she smelled delicious. She wonders, briefly, as he looks at her, measuring and with a small hint of fondness, what the relationship between the younger Bella Swan and this man had been.

"Hello, Mister Black," she said, absently straightening her sweater. She extended her hand for a shake.

Billy chuckled, grabbed her hand, and pulled her- _God this guy was strong-_  into her into a hug instead. He smelled like peppermint and tobacco, and she wondered if he smoked or if he chewed it. She awkwardly patted his shoulders.

"None of that! It's Billy to you! Now, look at you!"

She wiggled out of his embrace quickly, absently smiling as she tried to be calm.

"Look at you! You've haven't changed one bit," she said cheerfully, the lie slipping past her lips easily.

He chuckled.

"But you have changed! Where's the little girl that would carry books to the beach?"

Lauren couldn't help the slight sarcastic smile that comes to her lips.

"Who knows?"

_Because I sure as hell don't know where that brat is._

He laughed and ushered them inside his house.

"Come on in we need to get ready to go! Charlie has been talking about you none stop since you called him to say that you'd be moving here."

Charlie grumbled, good-naturedly, take a swig of his coffee. Faintly, she noticed that his cheeks had gotten a little pink.

She resists the urge to giggle, knowing that it will just embarrass the man and allowed herself to be led to the kitchen area, small but serviceable before the two men go off to prepare their tackle boxes.

"Wait here for a sec, Iz," said Charlie, waving absently at her.

"Will do Chief," she calls back, settling comfortably onto the built-in breakfast nook, curling her legs into criss-cross applesauce as they disappeared into the backyard for a second. Faintly, she shivers, throwing her jacket onto her almost bare legs, it was cold inside the house, not as much as outside but now that her coffee was running low and she wasn't moving, she felt it more strongly.

Lauren is sitting at the kitchen table, sipping at the last bit of her coffee, when a boy stumbles in from the living room, only clad in what looked like a pair of loose boxers. She blinks rapidly, surprised and a little amused as he staggers to the fridge, absently calling out 'morning, Charlie and dad' in the faint direction of the open door. Lauren, registering that she is staring in surprise at a fifteen-year-old, Jacob Black as he takes out a jug of milk and starts chugging it.

 _Oh look it's the other half of Bella's idiotic angst fest of a love-triangle, and what the fuck dude, get a glass_. He is gangly and all lean, she registers, wary at the sight of the soon to be shapeshifter, turns away with a faint lick of her lips. Jacob Black is tall, but is also thin and reedy, with very sharp cheekbones and strong jawline that had hints that he would be a very nice looking guy in a couple years, but obscured with baby fat, rounding out his face. Stretched out, she would say, as most kids that age were, and with annoyingly clear skin.  _Some people had all the fucking luck._ He was also kinda totally oblivious to the fact that she was in the kitchen with him, as he absently scratched at his chest and ran a hand through his messy hair.

"Um, Hi," she says, as though part of her rather just wait for him to notice her, she rather make the boy put some damn pants on. Because she has a feeling he would be terribly embarrassed, she's sort of immune to nudity, what with having to draw live nudes on a semi-regular bases a year back.

True to form, Jacob yelps at the sound of her voice, which is adorably high pitched, and she has to bite her lip to stop the snort as he turns around wildly. For a moment, all Jacob can do is stare, milk jug in hand. Then, with a slight shriek, he runs out of the room, jug still in hand. Lauren can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it, giggling like a loon as she nearly snorts her coffee out of her nose. Jacob comes back a few minutes later, blushing like a fifteen-year-old kid that was half naked in front of a stranger, dressed in wrinkled clothes that looked like he had picked them off the floor in his rush. He quietly puts away the milk, and vaguely, Lauren winces the fact that he had pulled his messy hair back with a rubber band- no matter how silky his hair was she couldn't help but think that his hair would snag on the material.

_Hair tie kid. The hair tie is long hair's best friend._

"Hey, I'm Izzy Swan. I came along for fishing, today," she said, softly, trying to ignore the whole thing. She can't help but smirk, chin in hand as the boy turns to her.

Jacob jumped at her voice again, paling sharply, smiling sheepishly at her. Even at fifteen, the boy towered over her. He extended his hand for a shake, almost automatically, and Lauren returned it firmly. His hand was sweaty, much to her slight disgust, and had her threatening to giggle again. She tended to laugh and make bad jokes when shit was awkward.

"Hi, Izzy, I'm Jacob. I guess you don't remember me that much? You did mostly hang out with my sisters."

"Rebecca and Rachel, right?"

He nodded, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. Nervous then, she doesn't blame him. She had seen him in his underwear, after all. She smiles slightly, trying to appear as unassuming and unthreatening as possible. Not a hard feat with her face and short stature. He shuffled uneasily on his feet.

"Yeah," he muttered, looking anywhere but her.

She blinked as Jacob just looked at the floor. She took in his jeans and surprise, surprise, a flannel shirt. Then there was nothing but awkward silence.  _I have no idea how to talk to young people._ She blinked, wondering when fifteen had become young to her. She was only twenty- but having to be around so many people below the age of eighteen made her feel so  _old_. She sighed slightly, before forcing herself to smile.

"So I was promised breakfast, you have any idea what that might entitle?"

"Um, Charlie and my dad usually just sort of prep a cooler full of things before heading out," the boy muttered, head down.

Lauren felt distinctly uncomfortable at the fact that she was making a fifteen-year-old boy uncomfortable in his own home. She got up, swinging her oversize hoody to tie around her waist. She tried not cringe at the fact that he was eying her up through his ridiculously long lashes. She wasn't even that pretty she thought with a faint flash of irritation, uncharitable and more than a little uncomfortable with all the male attention. Especially since the majority of the males that were looking her way were…. Well, underage, teenage boys in a Universe that a Mormon housewife had written about. She ignored him as she walked out, taking both satchel and nearly empty thermos as she came outside, both inpatient and uneasy being around Jacob.

"That better not be beer," she called out as she watched Charlie and Billy both tear apart a six-pack of something into a small cooler.

She didn't really care if it was, not really, but the fact that she wouldn't be able to partake when she could really use a shot of some sort of alcoholic beverage* made her feel petty... She wondered if she could convince Charlie to buy her favorite white wine by saying that it was for cooking. Moscato would be hard to sell though... Charlie raised a brow.

"Izzy, I'm driving us home, of course not. It's off-brand coke."

She nodded approvingly, trying to ignore the hovering fifteen-year-old at her side.

"Thanks for the warning, Dad," grumbled the boy, hands in his pocket.

Billy blinked.

"You didn't walk into the kitchen in your boxers, did you?" he asked, and he sounded half amused.

Jacob blushed and that was all his father needed to see before he burst out laughing. Lauren felt a bit of a pity at how Jacob looked down, trembling slightly- _Holy motherfucking shit no, no, no! It's too fucking soon!_

"I didn't see anything," she lied, carefully, wondering as the boy looked over at her to blink in surprise, "Just saw you out of the corner of my eye before the fridge door covered all the important parts. I turned away when you went to change."

He smiled at her and she was so damn relieved to see that his shaking had eased up. She was a little perturbed because he was supposed to change in a year's time… But then again he hadn't changed because he had been so happy to be with a zombie-Bella for a while… But still, he hadn't started his transformation until at least a couple months from now.  _Do the wolves run on a different system than what Meyer* wrote? Because if so holy shit I'm in trouble. Do not panic. Do not panic. Assess the situation. Spock this shit up before you hyperventilate._

"So, what's for breakfast?" called Jacob, sounding a bit more cheerful.

"I hope you like sandwiches," said Billy, holding up a large Tupperware full of said sandwiches, before he tossed it in the cooler along with more not-cokes and various bottles of what she hoped was water.

"Yum," she deadpanned.

"Sorry, Iz, we aren't exactly the best chefs, we'll leave that to you," said Charlie, and much to her slight irritation, he ruffled her short hair.

"Oh, yes, the Chief won't shut up on how good of a cook you are!" said Billy, laughing as she carefully smoothed down her crazy hair.

"Something wrong with that?" she asked, blinking as they tossed in another bag of ice into an empty cooler.  _For the fish?_

"Just surprising. Renee was a terrible cook ."

"I had to survive somehow," she said simply and was kinda annoyed as they loaded her truck, with the coolers, not letting her lift a damn finger.

"I'm afraid you and Jacob are going to be in the bed," said Billy, eying the room in the cab.

Lauren has a memory of Mexico, riding in the back of trucks. She had done it even last summer, the wind whipping through her short hair as her uncle made his way up the  _Malecon*_ , watching the waves crash on the beach. She shrugged, climbing up into her truck in a practiced way, using the tire as a step ladder before she swung herself up into it to sit on the hump the tire provided. Charlie blinked.

"Izzy, have you ridden in the back before?" he asked, sounding concerned.

Faintly, Lauren realizes that it was super illegal in the United States. Well, it wasn't legal in Mexico- it was just done. She grinned.

"Ask me no questions, and I shall tell you no lies!" she said simply.

Looking unhappy, but also realizing that he would get nowhere, he sighed, before helping Billy into the truck. She was surprised to see that Billy couldn't move his legs at all and she found herself frowning. According to what she could remember, he was supposed to have lost his ability to walk because of diabetes, losing a foot when he refused to go to the hospital with Doctor Cullen  _and because Meyer only wanted to write how badly superstitious the 'brown' people were._  He could stand, but he did not shuffle forward or shift the muscles of his legs without the aide of his hands. So not diabetes… The crash that claimed his wife? But that was supposed to be a low speed one…  _Does Meyer have a firm grasp of physics*?_

Jacob all but threw the wheelchair into the truck, jumped into the truck with a grin and with a quiet tap on the side, Charlie took off. As soon as he started the truck, Lauren lifted herself off the tire stump and onto the lip of the bed of the truck, getting a blink from Jacob. She gripped the lip of the truck and braced her foot against the cab. He lifts himself up as well, and Lauren is envious of the way his hair followed majestically in the wind. She sighed, ignored the way that he kept throwing glances her way and focused instead on the landscape.

The furthest north Lauren had ever gone was Sacramento, California, once, when she was four-years-old and the most she remembered was that it had been sunny and had a lot of tall buildings. She, much to her shame had never been to see the Redwoods in her own home state. But she had been to both the cost in the Mexico as well as the high, forested Mountains that came with the path of going down to visit her family.

The Quileute Reservation was beyond beautiful, wonderfully cold and smelled like the ocean, rich and familiar to her. She had vivid memories of it from visiting the coastal town in Mexico every summer for most of her life. Though, she could readily agree with Bella on the point that beaches were supposed to be warm- at least to swim in, as this Coast was no less beautiful than the tropical one that featured in her childhood memories. She sighed slightly at the wind whipped at her hair, flowing behind her as she leaned carefully over the truck to look at the coastline of Washington, at the dramatic far-off cliffs of rocky little islands that lined the shore.

If she closed her eyes all she would feel is the wind and the feeling of the truck ambling along, the scent of the sea bringing to mind days with her extended family.

She could ignore the fact that she was in the place of a fictional character and just pretend for a little while.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Charlie nearly laughed with the sight of Izzy slipping on the life preserver, orange gaudy and contrasting greatly to her nice sweater. It was a little large for her, as it was usually the one they forced on Jacob, but with her confession of being unable to swim at all other than to flail at a doggy paddle(her words), Jacob had surrendered it gleefully to his daughter. Because the boy did know who to swim. Billy was instructing her how to put it on and tighten it properly as he put on his own. Izzy wrinkled her nose at the fact that it didn't quite secure tightly across the chest. She grumbled underneath her breath as Charlie lamented that he wasn't quite ready to have a grown daughter, especially when he saw the way that Jacob was eying her from the corner of his eye.

Charlie wondered faintly as he watched Izzy do a little dance when she managed to get the buckles across her chest if he was allowed to do the whole shotgun father routine. Izzy was surprisingly mature in ways he couldn't quite understand sometimes, but she was still a seventeen-year-old girl. Boys would be looking, she looked so much like her mother to be anything less than a head turner*. And that was a headache that he was not looking forward the second she started looking back. It wasn't that he was opposed to her to date- but he had been a teenage boy once too, so he wasn't exactly trusting of them.

They piled into the motorboat, it was a bit of a tight fit as most of the time it was just three and it looked as if Jacob had grown another foot in the two weeks since he last saw them, but at least Izzy was compact, settling herself at the bow, not even bothering with the seat and leaning over the edge. She didn't do it so much so that it worried him but in interest. Her hand reached out, skimmed over the water before drawing back quickly, shaking her hand. It was freezing, no doubt, but other than flinching away she made no indication that it had bothered her, rubbing her hand absently into her hoody, which she had thrown across her legs.

Jacob seemed conflicted as he usually settled in the middle of the boat to pass around things, but was not so subtly looking over at Izzy even as he packed things in the usual place. A little irritated, but not wanting to alert Izzy, he placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and pushed him to sit. He ignored Billy's shit-eating-grin.

 _The jackass_ , probably thought it was cute as hell that Jacob's childhood crush was back in full swing at the sight of Isabella.

And it would be cute if he wasn't a fifteen-year-old boy with hormones and the like. They set off at a slow pace, the light just now starting to come he would wager about six o'clock or seven, as he glanced at the sky. No rain either, just cloudy, which was good because he wasn't exactly sure how Izzy would react to being on a boat for that. It wasn't until they were preparing their rods in their usual spot did he realize that Isabella didn't have one- and she solved that problem by, as soon as they dropped anchor, taking out a sketchbook and some colored pencils that had cost her an arm and a leg( _"They have oils in them in Charlie, it's why the color is so vivid!"_ ). She was smiling, humming tunelessly as she ran her hands across the large book in large sweeping gestures with a pale blue pencil that were only cut off occasionally by a flick of her wrist.

"Now what are you doing?" and that's Billy, sounding oddly soft.

Izzy looks up, furrowing her brows in confusion.

"Sketching," she says and blinks at them, "I mean, it's not like you have an extra rod, Charlie only packed one and you guys had two. Did you really think I'd be happy to sit in the boat staring at the water without doing something constructive?"

She doesn't sound defensive, only confused. It's at that moment that Charlie wonders if she's forgotten that Sarah had loved drawing and painting and that Billy is asking out of sincere interest and with a softness that he hadn't had since Rachel and Rebecca graduated. She just looks at them, curious, before she shrugs. Billy drops it, but his eyes constantly flicker to her. Charlie frowns, but focuses on preparing his rod, slowly and methodically, as Billy seems to do the same. But Charlie can see vaguely that he is endeared by it, smiling as he looks over the water.

Izzy looks out at the water too, humming again that tuneless thing, disjointed and without real rhythm. She seemed to be highly focused on the sea around her, eyes bright as her hand went rapidly across the page.

Charlie felt light.

Seeing her comfortable, doing her thing, as he did her's, made a tension he hadn't know had been there eased. He wonders, at the fact that the little girl he had held seventeen years ago was the person was in front of him. They all sit in silence, easy with it, the only noises that of the slight sounds of gulls, the gentle lap of the water against the boat and Izzy's pencil scratches across her paper. It isn't until a bit later, that he notices that her attention is no longer on the landscape of sheer cliffs in the distance, but rather on them- him, Billy and Jacob.

Grey eyes gleamed, intent, face slack and relaxed as they spent a quiet afternoon, with the occasional conversation popping. It was mostly Jacob starting it- with her little earbuds in, Izzy seemed to be in her own little world, fingertips flying across the page with an ease that seemed to be second nature to her. It is when Jacob looks at her, expectantly, sometime later that Izzy pops out the two buds.

"Sorry, what was that?" she asked, curious and raising her eyebrows.

Jacob shifted uneasily from in his seat and Charlie repressed a sigh.

"How are you liking Forks? School okay?" he asked, again.

Izzy blinked and shifted herself. She smiled and lowered her large journal.

"Forks is fine…. I love being around Charlie," she said, warmly, and Charlie couldn't help the goofy grin in response," And school is okay. Everyone has been super nice… I'm just worried about getting the flu."

Charlie frowned.

"Some bug going around?" he asked because he would have to take some days off to take care of her and he wondered if Richard, his second in command would mind. It wasn't as if he had used his sick days in a while, anyway.

It'd be nice, at least, to have a few days babying Izzy. She didn't leave much room to be babied, that much he could tell from the way she acted, even if he didn't know his daughter very well. She shrugged.

"Well, Rosalie Hale and Edward Cullen have been sick and I have them in two classes. Not to Mention Angela Weber has been sniffling and I have most of my classes with her. I'm surprised I haven't gotten sick before, to be honest..."

Charlie immediately tensed at the mention of the Cullens. Izzy didn't know of course- the tension between the Quileute and the Cullens for some bad blood between an ancestor of the Cullens: some big showdown between them some hundred* years ago. It was infamous gossip in town. So much so that some of the older Quileutes had threatened to boycott the hospital before Billy had put his foot down and claimed that was counterproductive for the tribe to make things so tense right off the bat. He had even made a point of going more frequently for checkups as an example. Now, as he looked at Billy out of the corner of his eye, he saw how tense his best friend had become.

_Damnit. We have just started to get over this bullshit._

"Oh?" said Billy, and Charlie ground his teeth at the way his voice got- His 'Chief' voice, an infliction that denoted a presence and authority* that Charlie had always envied. Billy was staring at his daughter, eyes intent and measuring, "Do you have a lot of classes with the Cullens?"

Izzy blinked again, furrowing her brows.

"Just the two. I haven't really spent a lot of time with Edward Cullen- he's been out all week. But Emmett and Rosalie have been nice enough. But, I don't really talk to them. I have them in my art class," here, Izzy bite her lip, turning towards Charlie, "I drove them home on Friday, by the way. Rosalie looked really terrible. She was really happy to get out of class- so much so that she offered to look at my Truck today."

Charlie really wished he had mentioned the whole Cullen thing to Izzy beforehand. If not he would have saved himself the rise in blood pressure for both him and Billy. Billy usually was a cool customer- but looking at the way his mouth twisted made Charlie realize that today would end in a screaming match.

_At least we caught a few fish before this._

"You're meeting a couple of people you don't know at their house?" said Billy and he seemed to be so mad he was trembling. Charlie wondered at the fact that he was going a roundabout way to scold _his_ daughter.

"What? No! They're coming over. I mean, Rosalie is just going to look over the truck. She said she heard something wrong with the engine."

"There's nothing wrong with the engine!" and that was Jacob, hotly jumping up and causing the boat to rock violently.

Izzy went pale, clutching at the bow of the boat.

"Dude what the fuck, sit your ass down!" she snapped, screeched really.

_She can't swim._

"Jacob!" he barked, because really the kid know better, "Sit down, son."

Jacob did so reluctantly, slamming himself down with more force than necessary.

"There's nothing wrong with the engine. I was taking care of it before my dad sold it," he said sullenly, "What does _Rosalie_ know about cars anyway?"

Izzy was frowning at him.

"It barely goes past sixty without making the worst grinding noise. Emmett said she takes care of all of the Cullen's car I just want her to look at it. Geez, it's not like I can afford a mechanic-"

"Just bring it by! I'll look at it! I work part time at the garage on the Reservation. You don't have to go to her for anything," said Jacob, and Charlie was reminded vividly however quickly he was shooting up, he was still a fifteen-year-old boy.

"You should cancel," and that was Billy, face hard, "The Cullens aren't a good family Izzy. And if you're really worried about the Truck, I can talk to Harry Clearwater. He owns the garage and can give you a good discount. He's your dad's friend beside me giving a good word."

Izzy looked at Billy and her face was careful, even in a way that made something of the Cop in him be concerned.

"They're a bad family?" she said softly, "They've been nice enough to me… Well, the one's I've talked to more then once. Carlisle and Esme were trying to be helpful. I haven't met Alice or Jasper… And Edward has been sick all week. But Rosalie and Emmett-"

"Sick, huh?" here, Billy snorts, "Kiddo, trust me. Their type-"

"Okay, that's enough, Billy," Charlie said quietly, because he was fed up with this entire conversation. He was putting his  _Goddamn_ foot down.

"Charlie."

"No. You can believe what you want Billy, but if the Cullens want to be nice to my kid and be her friend that's my damn business."

Billy was glaring now, visibly shaking still. Charlie wasn't feeling very still himself.

"Charlie, I'm only trying to keep Isabella on the right path. The Cullens are not right," he said sharply, dark eyes narrowed.

"Yeah. And I think both me and Izzy are old enough to be the judge of that. We're done with this conversation."

"I don't think we are."

Charlie narrowed his eyes.

"Yes, we are William* Black."

Honestly, if he wasn't in a boat a little off shore he would've stormed off by now.

"Charlie-"

"Izzy, it's getting a little cold, isn't it?" he interrupted sharply, "What time did you say that you were meeting your friends?"

"Um-"

"Don't want you to be late," sharply, he heaved the anchor up, before his hand went to the motor.

"Charlie, we can stay out a little longer," and that was Billy, voice strained.

Charlie swallowed. He didn't want to fight with Billy. Not over someone else. But the Cullens weren't bad people- whatever their ancestor had done to the Quileutes, which  _he still hadn't fucking told him what it had been,_ had been in the _past._  Billy knew better then anyone that the past did not determine the person. He was the Police Chief of Forks, it was his damn job to be impartial and just. And so far? None of the Cullens had done anything to make him uneasy. And Izzy was a good kid who wouldn't let herself fall into a shit crowd. She was smarter then that. He sighed.

"It's is getting pretty cold, Bill," he said, and he felt his face relaxing, his jaw unlocking. He hadn't realized he had been so tense, "Come on, Izzy isn't used to being out for so long… And we're still up for next week to fish, right?"

Billy frowned but sighed and nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah… You coming down next week, Iz?"

Izzy nodded, quickly.

"Yeah. I'd love to. As long I don't have too much homework."

"And if the Cullens…. Are being strange you'll tell me and your Dad?"

Izzy shifted, blinking rapidly before she nodded, quickly. Charlie frowned at the way her shoulders relaxed.

"Yeah, sure. No problem."

"Billy-"

"Just looking out for her, Chuckles*," said Billy with a slight grin that didn't quite meet his eyes.

Charlie frowned but nodded sharply. He didn't want to get into again. It had caused enough grief between them. When Charlie placed a hand on his arm, he knew that while they weren't great right now, his best friend and him were  _okay_.

Mostly, Charlie mourned his moment of peace with his daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I do not own Twilight in any sense. It belongs to its creator, Stephenie Meyer, its publishing and broadcasting companies.
> 
> This is me, playing in its sandbox, making misshapen sandcastles.
> 
> *1: Spanish translates roughly to 'fuck me' but in the Spanish context it isn't as bad... Still, a swear though c:
> 
> *2: At my age, its legal in Mexico... And I'm nearly twenty-one regardless.
> 
> *3: I've always thought that the wolves only being active when there are vampires around to be a terrible defense mechanism. Seriously. It's sooo stupid. Why would they only do that? It would leave them vulnerable, especially if you think beyond there being only two supernatural entities in the Twilight Universe. The legends have to come from somewhere and Native America lore is rich and full of things that go bump in the night. Beyond that, I really hate how much Meyer cripples the Wolves. Really. She does everything in her power to make sure her vampires are the ultimate being in her eyes- and it just makes everything, including the Vamps so flat and boring. I've talked this over and thought it over- The wolves are an every generation thing. Not just when there are vamps around, they just more people with less concentration of the gene Shift. Also, they are more on an equal level with the Vampires as well. So yes. It's my story and I change it if I want toooo~
> 
> *4: Broadwalk
> 
> *5: The short answer... No. Meyer does not have a good grasp on physics, more on that later- beyond that, I also like to say that I've always felt very irritated that Meyer is so God damn dismissive towards people of other race. Seriously. She makes me feel icky- really really icky. Most of the text is her uplifting white people- Whether or not to make her vampires lose all pigmentation of their skin to a pale cast and more beautiful as a result of it or how the Quileute act 'so unreasonable' over the Cullens being present and making them look like a bunch of superstitious 'brown people' who don't know how awesome her vampires are. Really. Fuck that stupid backward as fuck representation.
> 
> *6: Charlie is biased- I maintain that I am passably pretty. Nothing heart stopping or head turning. But I am not hideous either, especially if I try to dress up and wear a little makeup. But Charlie is biased as fuck.
> 
> *7: Time-wise, it was supposed to be eighty years ago. But... Um... People can still be alive after that. So I've changed it so it was just Carlisle that was around a hundred years ago and made the Treaty. That means most of the people alive are dead, and if they aren't, they were too young rememberer. Because I remember that the average human lifespan is roughly eighty years and people could totally still be alive and remember the Cullen if they were around 90 years-old.
> 
> *8: It's my fic and I can change it if I want too~ c;
> 
> *9: I know canonically his name is just Billy- But I kinda don't like it and can you see the grandson of Ephraim Black being called Billy? It just never made any sense to me.
> 
> Okay- so no one gets mad at me but the chapter was finished like a week ago. I just never got around to uploading it. I was slaving away trying to finish a project and it slipped my mind. I'm so sorry guys! Here it is, in full and I hope you liked Charlie's POV as much as I loved writing it. Seriously, it's so fun to write more than just Lauren. Next up is Emmett's POV. I hope you liked it and please leave a review~
> 
> ~Happy Reading,
> 
> Moon Witch '96


	9. Grease Monkey Social Climber And the Tennessee Redneck

It was because he was curious.

Emmett McCarthy figured interacting with the human girl named Isabella 'Izzy' Swan wasn't that bad. Even if she had been set on them by Esme, simply because she was… Interesting. Humans weren't usually interesting, not really at that age, too focused on 'finding themselves' to busy trying to grow up so fast when the easiest years of their lives were slipping through their fingertips. He liked college students better, or at least after freshman year because they took their heads outta their asses for the most part. He didn't see that kinda urgency in Isabella Swan. She was utterly relaxed and maybe it was because he only ever saw her at lunch and in Art class, surrounded by her friends or in something that was very much her element.

But he could appreciate that calmness- that self-confidence and ease. She was funny too- quick on the draw with it really. And she had a fondness for some God-awful puns, really the girl was a hoot in a half when she wasn't ignoring them in favor of her craft. That was also curious. The passion in which she went for something- to the point of harming herself and running herself ragged if the deep bags under her eyes were any indication. She was utterly absorbed in something that she loved, whether that be her drawing or whatever book was in front of her with an intense focus that made her oblivious to things around her.

And Emmett was man enough to say it was also because he was grateful that Isabella Swan had noticed his wife was off. Off enough to alert the teacher and use the sway she had on her(she was her pet and Emmett didn't need to be Edward to notice that while she cared for the girl, Mrs. Garner was also gushing over her talent as if it had been only by her lackluster teaching that the girl had achieved it) to let them get the hell out of the situation and recover after one of her flashbacks. She had been quick and observant, eyes open.

Most humans didn't look past their own asses to even notice something about other people. Isabella Swan seemed just like that at first- but sometimes she would look around at people in a way that Emmett thought was really thoughtful. She was quieter than most too- often just silent as people talked to her, looking directly at them in a careful, while not in an intense way, an active assessing way that showed that she was actively _listening_. Even with her moments of complete absorption of whatever was going on in her head as she read and drew as she so obviously loved, she actively looked and listened.

She was a weird one, really.

He was mostly curious, really, he hadn't been human in a long time, nearly seventy-something years(he didn't really bother to keep track) and he found most people to be… Boring. Easy to scare from a flash of his teeth, easy to silence by his face and much too slow and ignorant at times. It was a hassle to go through the motions of it- temper himself in a way that wasn't natural. But it made Rose happy and he was always down to make his wife happy.

He always found it ironic that he and Rose had the opposite view of humanity- she saw the endless potential and he saw tediousness and vain self-absorption, but they both saw that there was an inert joy that came with being human.

It was curiosity that made him drive up to Chief Swan's house, after a quick call from the girl, his wife at his side. It wasn't terribly late, only about three in the afternoon and she was waiting on the porch. She was dressed in a sweater and very short shorts, contradictory even with her light tights. She was reading something, leaning casually against the house, booted feet absently wiggling. Part of Emmett delighted in the little t-rex's socks that he sees peeking over her boots. Most of him noticed she was reading a Harry Potter novel( _the sixth one,_ he noticed with a faint surprise, because she seemed to be plowing through them really quick like all week, already on the last novel when she had started on the third one just that Monday). She was listening to music too, nodding her head along to the song:

" _Come on, come on, turn the radio on_  
It's Friday night and I won't be long  
Gotta do my hair, I put my makeup on  
It's Friday night and I won't be long  
Til I hit the dance floor  
Hit the dance floor  


 _I got all I need_  
No I ain't got cash  
I ain't got cash  
But I got you baby  


 _Baby I don't need dollar bills to have fun tonight  
_ _ **I love cheap thrills  
**_ _Baby I don't need dollar bills to have fun tonight  
_ _ **I love cheap thrills**_ __  
But I don't need no money  
As long as I can feel the beat  
I don't need no money  
As long as I keep dancing."

It was crooned a voice, slightly accented going along to a rapid beat. He furrowed his brow, wondering where on earth the girl got her music because while she had an eclectic ear that had ranged from damn opera(Carmen, he had noted with bemusement) the other day to rapid rap (by Eminem though he had never heard that song before*). She looked up over the novel after a second, and at the sight of them, she set the book aside as well as her mp3, stuffing it into her back pocket. Her heart started to pound, most likely in anticipation or excitement at the sight of them. He parked, casually, down the street from Izzy's house, as far away as he could get away with and Rosalie's hand squeezed his for a brief second, a rare sign of nerves( _and he loved that his wife trusted him enough to show him that- her 'weakness' every nook an' cranny that made her up_ ). He felt a bit apprehensive himself.

He was a simple man- vampire or not- and he had always been comforted by the fact that his eternity was more often than not predictable. It would get exciting once in a while because eternity was a long ass time to be boring but his life was a routine. Rosalie relished the routine, found a safety in it that he cherished for her. Meeting anyone with the purpose of friendship was more than a break from their routine. Because they weren't like Carlisle and Esme- they didn't find a need to remind themselves of what they had lost, nor they did they have to find bandages to cover up the gaping wounds left behind by turning into what they were.

They were both growing together,  _healing_ , slowly but surely. It had been a long time, to be focused on each other, the first tense year after his transformation had been rough… And for a while, Emmett had felt lost and useless, mad at the world all over again because he was a raging monster that killed human beings and because this golden girl with sad eyes, had come to his rescue from his own goddamn stupidity. He should've been paying better attention, saw the bear's tracks sooner before the damn giant thing had come at his drunk ass, furious and roarin' over the rabbit he had just snared for his dinner. He hadn't even had his gun with him, just out camping with a damn bottle, a knife and his own misery over some stupid fight he had had with his older brother, Ezekiel over something he couldn't even remember...

Emmett was always one to look at the present, simple-minded as he was, he didn't exactly miss humanity or at least his own, because he had been dirt poor hick of the Tennessee backwoods with no future but to drink himself to death and to be furious at the world for his lot in life. But he missed the simplicity of the deep woods, the smell and quiet of it, and the sharp burning and numbing taste of moonshine on his tongue, of warm evenings on the back porch, barefoot with the vague memories of his brothers and sisters next to him as they watched the lightnin' bugs on balmy summer nights. Rose, on the other hand, was constantly moving from a past that had fucked her over, trying to move past betrayals and shattered dreams. Trying to let go of what she would never have and the pain and humiliation of being seen as nothing but an object by the man she had sworn to herself to love, of losing her parents on a whim of their creator.

Not trying to patch herself with short-lived fixes, but trying heal- to leave behind only scars. Neither of them was what one would call progressive and part of Emmett blamed that on being a vampire, and part of him blamed it on the human beings they were before they had turned. Him, the Tennessee redneck going nowhere, her, the New York social climber trapped in a life that would never be quite enough. This was a step for them, more then they cared to admit because they were letting someone into their secluded lives in a way that was very dangerous.

Human or no.

The human element made it just that more dangerous. Any misstep on his part(he had no illusions who was the stronger willed person between him and his wife) or on the girl's part would mean her death. Or worse, exposure to what they were. He was sorta already fond of Izzy Swan and both he and Rose were very reluctant to turn her and give her their type of life*. With their only option for her to have an 'accident' after that… Well, that was a mess and a half that Emmett did not want deal with because Rose was damn proud that she has only ever killed two people who didn't really deserve it and it was a mistake- a freak accident. Even then Rose still mourned the two security guards that she had flung a little too hard with her newborn strength in her eagerness to get to her bastard of an ex-fiance…

Then again, Emmett had always been more reckless and more than willing to throw caution to the wind. It was the hick in 'im, the reckless jackass that had blown through two moonshine stills and come back for more without a care. The idiot that had gone camping in the spring in bear country just because he wanted to go where no one would bother him and because of the sheer cockiness of being one of the best hunters in the area- no way would anything hurt him.

It was why he and Rose worked so well together- he was the id to her super-ego and together they formed  _the_  perfectly balanced ego.

"We could always take a powder*," he mutters, as they unbuckle at a nearly unbearably slow human pace, before leaving the car. He 'helps' Rose take out her large toolbox, before tossing an arm around her shoulders.

He tugged a little uncomfortably at his hoodie as he much rather have his arms bare and free, but appearances were appearances and according to the thermometer it was scientifically 'cold as balls'. Izzy waves at them, a slight smile on her face, and he waves back, a smile forming on his lips at the simplicity of just  _greeting_  someone that he hasn't lived with for the last sixty and plus years. Rosalie nods and offers a slight smile but no more than that because she has her walls up and doesn't trust the small girl watching them enough to be the girl that he only gets to see… But the fact that they were doing this much spoke volumes on how much Rose, and him for that matter,  _wanted_ to trust this girl.

They walk towards her slowly, holding off the interaction as much as they can because they may look like two lovely Debs* who thought they were indestructible, but they have all the insecurity of their actual age. Nothing sadder than a few old cats without a friend.

"We're already here, you pill*," says his wife, sounding vaguely snappy due to her stress. He squeezes the hand he's holding in response, as always, she squeezes back, "Now let's not gum the works* and try to make a friend today."

"It'll be eggs and coffee*, dollface."

"Hey, guys!" calls Izzy, making her way carefully across the slick walkway. It's ridiculously methodical, her booted feet stepping deliberately every few feet. But he doesn't blame her- he saw her slip on the sleek concrete rushing out of class on Wednesday, so he doesn't hate her for it and had nearly applauded when Rose had snapped out and caught the young girl by the waist.

Falling on your ass, he recalled faintly, was painful and embarrassing as hell.

"Hey, Izzy," he called, easily smiling.

Both he and his wife freeze, minutely, as they catch a whiff of her scent- it isn't the fact that she smells good (though he is the first to admit that Izzy had made his mouth water with venom that Monday he had first met her and he doesn't blame his brother for running as fast as he could to Alaska if she smelled anything like  _the Two_ ) it's an overlaying scent that has their hackles raising and something in them hissing. Because it is a familiar smell, vaguely akin to earth and forests*, that reminds them vividly that they are not the only creatures that humanity is ignorant of.

That though they may be frozen in time and immune more or less to the passage of it, there were things that could take them down if they so wished. They had known that the girl was going to La Push. They had also known that the girl's father was big friends with the current Chief William 'Billy' Black, so it is on par that she would smell as the tribe did, especially if she was spending time with the Chief himself, a direct descendant of Ephraim Black. It takes them a second and a half to not let their instincts reign over them and temper their reaction to the scent that reminds them that they, as supernatural creatures, are not  _alone_.

No sentient creature liked knowing of its own fragility, after all, especially the immortal ones.

"Thank you so much for doing this, you really don't have to," she says, gesturing to her truck.

Rosalie just rolls her eyes, lifts her large toolbox with a slight 'struggle'. She wiggles it with emphasis. The only indication that the scent had unsettled her is the slightly uneasy way she stands, or how close she presses against his side. Emmett himself feels it keenly and it has him anxiously wanting to hit something. But both he and his wife are not Newborns. They are at least seven decades into their vampire life so it is only a moment of confliction before they are settled. Instincts inform them, but it will not rule them.

"Whatever, just show me the Crushinator," she said simply.

Izzy giggles, and walks in the direction of her truck. Emmett eyes kinda go cross-eyes as he watches his wife get comfortable, discarding her jacket with quick economic movements, making a show of shivering in her sweater before she pushes back her sleeves, and goes elbow deep into the hood of the Crushinator after she ties her long locks back in a tight, no-nonsense bun. Funnily enough, Emmett himself never had found himself too handy with a wrench(after all, two exploded stills), he had been a little leery of automobiles in his human life. Too complicated, too expensive for his likin' and a good way too fancy for his redneck ass. His wife loved them because of they used to mean, the luxury and class, because back in their day, it had been a privilege and sign of wealth to be cruising' about in an automobile.

And if anything, his Rose is a classy woman.

Izzy shimmies her way to him, her hands on her hips, her brow is furrowed. Emmett wants to laugh at the picture she paints- she is the epitome of small and full of moxie this girl, with her serious expression. He towers over her and could've bench her if he was a regular human, let alone a vampire. It was the reason so many people were reluctant to approach him, despite his easy smile. Because he was built like a truck on top of looking slightly off as all vampires did. But Izzy Swan did not flinch, even if she held herself at a respectable distance.

"Do you have any idea what's she's doing?" she asks, as she watches his wife work.

Emmett gives a hum and a shrug in the same measure.

"I know the names of tools when she needs me to pass them, other then that, Rosie is the genius, not me," he says, and watches as the girl shakes her head in amusement.

"God, I can use a blowtorch just fine, but cars are so not my speed. They confuse the Dickens out of me, I remember once I got a flat and I couldn't even get the bolts off if it weren't for my friend stomping the hell out of the key thingy."

"Blowtorch?" Emmett is a little confused, after all, he can't see this girl wielding fire with ease? Did she like to cook creme brulee or something? She liked to cook, that much he had picked up on from her constant homemade lunches, but was she a gourmet?

Her expression, from what he can see out of the corner of his eyes, goes wistful. She is frowning, and the grip on her hips tightened for a fraction of a second.

"For metalsmithing… Erm, jewelry making. I was taking classes back home," she said quietly, blinking rapidly.

_She still misses Phoenix. It has only been a couple weeks for her._

Emmett misses that-attachment to place. Roots. He has some property down in Tennessee that had more or less been the land his family had owned before they slowly sold it off, but it's more out obligation of the faint memories of who he had been, not because of any real attachment to it. Rosalie missed it too. She hated being a nomad to serve Carlisle's need to heal the human race. Something they both infinitely respected him for but didn't deny to resent at times. It was a relief when they actually went off to college for a few years to gain some semblance of independence. They were adults after all, and as much as they appreciated Esme's motherin' and Carlisle's steady hand, they still were ninety years olds that had been frozen at an age that was much past the time of them being children. Especially if you considered the era they had been born to.

"I'm sure you can find something like that near here," he said, softly, though he doubted it. Forks wasn't really a big town, Port Angeles an hour away and Seattle five hours away even if Isabella Swan was determined, it wasn't feasible to do with school and the like.

"I doubt it," she mused, laughing slightly, "But thanks for the sentiment. At least I have more of a reason to just draw nowadays. I'm out of practice and its been refreshing to return to it."

"That's out of practice?" and that was Rosalie, coming around the truck with a quirked brow, hair pulled back and covered in engine grease and oil.

Emmett found that this was when Rosalie was at her most beautiful. Because she was utterly relaxed and happy with what she's doing.

"Yeah, yeah it is."

"Hmm. Well, just by looking at your truck, I can tell that whoever has been working on it is keeping it together by hopes and sparkles."

The girl's brow furrows, and she licks her lip.

"That bad?"

"Yes and no. The engine isn't original to the car- If it was you wouldn't be able to get past fifty or so miles an hour at all*. It's a seventies engine, which is good because that means the parts are less of a pain in the ass to get but you need a couple things to fix it up. It's a really good thing that whoever changed the engine made sure that it could deal with the size and weight of your truck. But it's still something you have to get serviced often. Which it has not."

"What sort of price are we looking for to replace whatever needs replacing?" said the girl, eyes narrowed, she had not missed, it seemed, that Rose had kept the name of the parts vague.

Rosalie hummed.

"Nothing major, " she dismissed, "I have most of the parts you need in my garage. I'd be glad to give them to you."

She was lying through her teeth, noted Emmett because she was tapping out a quick message in Morse code with her foot.  _Needs major parts, at most give it a year or two with what it's got._ It was so fast he doubted the girl would have even noticed the movement.

"I don't know… It feels like I'm taking advantage of you. You only offered to look at my truck-"

"It's fine," said Rosalie seriously, before she smiled slightly, "It gives me an excuse to work on your truck. It's a beauty if a little beat up... I love more than anything to give cars like this a new lease on life. Working on the engine is step one. If you let me, I'd love to take a sander to it and help you paint it too. The interior is in fantastic condition in comparison, but the windows are a little stiff which can be fixed easily enough… And you really do need new tires. I can do so much for the car if you let me."

The girl pursed her lips, quirked her brow.

"You just want to work on the truck because you like it?"

"Yes. It needs it. It's a beautiful car that needs to be saved," and here, Emmett knew Rosalie was not lying because she looked reverently at the Crushinator. His wife adored automobiles- had a vast collection down in Tennessee. Given her looks, he would not be surprised if Izzy ever sold the car, that the Crushinator would end up with her Collection, and if not, Rosalie would be looking for a model for herself.

Izzy Swan started. Eyes careful, heartbeat speeding up slightly. She was just looking at Rose, assessing and measuring clearly. After a beat, the girl narrows her eyes and starts to nod her head slowly.

"You can only work on the car here," stipulated the girl, "And you have to at least let me know if anything major needs replacing, even if you already have the part. Let me pay for it then. Oh, and let me pay for the tires."

"You can't let anyone else touch the truck," his wife said, protectively, and Emmett repressed a sigh because Rosalie was more than a little overprotective of anything that she considered to be her's, be it objects or people, "I want it to work on this truck because it's beautiful, but I know that you would never let me buy it off of you. This is a compromise... This makes it ours."

The girl narrows her eyes, takes a breath, licks her lips, before she nods, and extends her small hand towards his wife. Rosalie nods as well, clasping the girl's hand easily. The girl shakes it, readily, not even flinching at the difference in temperature or the grime on his wife's hand.

"Deal."

Emmett is a simple man that doesn't put much stock in certain things. But as he watches the pleased expression creep on his wife's face, he understands that some things are indispensable. Because his golden girl is smiling, almost beaming really, and that was something that Emmett McCarthy always wanted for her. Silently, he thanks whatever fate had caused Isabella Swan to move to Forks.

**OOOOOOOOOO**

Lauren watched the two vampires drive away with sweaty palms and an uneasy heart. She had not wanted to drive them home, two days ago, but had not felt like she had much choice. It wasn't as if she could have made a big fuss over her art teacher letting her escape early for a day. Well, she  _could_ have but that would have drawn a lot of attention to her. What regular teenager wouldn't jump at that, even if they were a stickler for the rules? And sure, she could have let the Cullens 'wait in the car' or really run their way home, but she was the first to admit that the way Rosalie had acted… Rosalie had acted in a way that was eerily similar to a panic attack.

Lauren was no stranger to panic attacks.

Both she and her sister were prone to them- her sister more horrendously and frequently then her- but she knew the signs. She knew what it felt like. Her's were anxiety based, and when she was stressed or overwhelmed, Lauren often had to go to the bathroom to hyperventilate and pace for five minutes and try to calm herself down. More often than not, it was triggered by stress (finals, of a deadline that she might not make). Or via overstimulation via too many talking people or her own thoughts looping in a constant train of thought that had her own self-loathing tendencies. Miriam's panic attacks… It was always triggered by being overwhelmed. She was very anthropophobic for reasons that always made Lauren want to cry. Or punch something.

And they were very akin to what had happened to Rosalie*.

Lauren had felt her heartbreak as she had watched the woman in front of her Friday afternoon. Because though Rosalie had hidden it well, Lauren knew what to look for.  _She knew_. Though she had been lying through her teeth… Lauren had known. And Lauren was the first to admit to those she loved that she was a callous bitch that wanted to get her god-damn way. She was not cruel with her manipulation, not really- she just simply had honed the skill to her advantage. And at the moment she was very afraid for her life and was not beneath manipulating strangers to save her ass in this insane Twi-world. But she was not completely heartless despite her slyer attributes. She was not a  _monster._  She was just a very scared woman that was in an impossible situation that did not want to die away from her family and friends, that wanted to go  _home_.

Rosalie was a woman that had been ganged-raped. That had been turned into a vampire in her most vulnerable moment, and if Meyer's claim that vampires were frozen in the moment of their turning, then that meant she was constantly in mind-state of a woman who had been ganged-raped. Lauren more than felt empathy for her. While she could not understand the strain of being raped, she had seen the aftermath of what had happened to someone who had.

She could never look at herself in the mirror if she dared ignored someone in pain like that.

So she had taken them home. Bantered with them, tried to distract them both, and offered a last-ditch attempt to the Cullens to leave her alone. For them to keep to themselves. Rosalie and Emmett had not taken it. And Lauren had accepted that she had to adapt. The thing about being manipulative- it was not bending everyone to your will absolutely. There were no absolutes, especially with human beings, or in this case, sentient creatures. No, it was moving things in your favor and hoping that people would go for what you wanted. If they didn't, you had to make contingencies. Had to move forward from your first scheme to the next.

She had never expected to have to interact with any of the Cullens beyond Edward in biology. Bella hadn't. Or at least not before Edward and Bella had started their relationship. But having Rosalie and Emmett in a class changed that. And she had to adapt. She had tried to be friendly but not overall familiar to be dragged into the supernatural world more than she already was by being Edward's Singer. But from what Rosalie had offered to do- take care of her truck, Lauren knew that wasn't possible. Not from the earnest way the vampire had offered to do it, not by the semi-hopeful look on her husband's face. They wanted to befriend her, God only knew why, and it was something she had not anticipated. Rosalie supposed to hate Bella and while Emmett liked her, it was only after Edward was attached at the girl's hip. It seemed that being herself, polite and friendly, was enough to get both of them to turn around and try to connect themselves with her.

_Adapt. Adaptation or die. This is the nature of survival in a world that wants to drag me into it further._

She had already put her foot in the door with Billy- one fail-safe and a carte blanc on the wolf side of things in case the Cullens got too close to Lauren for comfort. She would be twice an idiot if she dismissed the older Cullens in anyway, beyond the fact of sincerely finding herself liking Emmett and Rosalie, they could be her second fail-safe. The fact that Rosalie had been Bella's biggest opposer to becoming a vampire was something she was banking on now. Maybe, if she were too adamant for the sake of her poor human friend to be left out of the supernatural world, Edward would leave her alone. Especially if Lauren herself ignored the boy and did not allow his curiosity to morph into infatuation like it had in the novels.

If she could get the older Cullens as a second fail-safe and as a possible buffer between her and Edward, the better Lauren would feel. She sighed slightly, hands coming up to rub her temples over everything. She breathed deeply in, allowing the cold, crisp air to settle painfully into her lungs. It was a reminder. She was alive. Wherever she may be, she was still alive and she would make sure it stayed that way.

She took another deep breath, before she grabbed her small satchel of things, her jacket, and made her way inside. Charlie was in the kitchen and peaked out with a knife and a fish and hand. He smiled.

"Your friends left?"

She nods, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"Yeah. Esme called them and said that they needed to go home for a late lunch," she said simply, before tossing her jacket over the armchair.

"Pity. I'm sure they would've loved to have some fresh fish, Harry Clearwater even gave me so of his famous batter to fry these babies," he said going back into the kitchen. Lauren followed, going to wash her hands.

Expertly, Charlie scaled the fish, humming along to the Beatles CD he had put on. A song she didn't know was playing, and while Lauren had always appreciated what the Beatles had done for music, she was not overly in love with them. A product of not growing up with them and being completely oblivious to music until she was eleven, she was sure, though there were a couple of their songs that she did really like. Lauren just went over to check the potatoes she had put to boil before the two Cullens had come and before Charlie had shooed her out of the kitchen. She grabbed a fork and pressed into a potato to check its softness. Satisfied, she turned off the flame(faintly missing her electric stove top and being super nostalgic about the return to the gas range top that had been her childhood), before she dragged the large pot to the sink, and tossed the water.

"I was surprised you didn't come out to meet them," she said offhandedly, before she went to the fridge and grabbed milk, a stick of butter, and some grated cheese, "I mean you did peek through the curtain but you didn't come to say hello."

Charlie laughed, not at all sheepish. Lauren grabbed pepper and a powdered garlic.

"Well, I didn't think you want your old man cramping your style. And by the way, that boy is too old for you."

She smirked at him, expertly slicing some butter into the potatoes and pouring in a dash of milk. Charlie had no idea.

"I agree with you. It's a good thing he's dating Rosalie, you know, the pretty bombshell that was looking at my truck?"

"What's the verdict?" he asked, taking off his gloves as he had finished scaling the last fish, he went to the small battering station he had set up just before the Cullens had arrived, and grabbed one of the five medium-sized fish and began to dip it into the egg base, before moving to the dry batter, "Did Billy sell me a lemon?"

"A couple problems in the engine. Some parts need replacing and the tires defiantly do, but Rosalie said it was an easy fix. She also mentioned that she was really thankful that I was letting her have her 'dirty way' with the truck," Lauren said, making sure to use air quotes before she went on making the mashed potatoes.

If she smashed a little more than mashed, Charlie didn't comment. Lauren had to get her stress out somehow, and yoga every morning was just not cutting it.

"How much we talking about?"

Lauren pursed her lips.

"She didn't say. We made a deal- she gets to work on the truck as long as I don't let anyone touch it and she gets to play."

Charlie frowned. Lauren frowned as well.

"Iz, that is not okay. Is she just going to pay for the parts? And what, you're going to let a girl that isn't a professional mess with your car? I'm not sure how safe… Or ethical that is," said Charlie, and faintly, Lauren realized how disappointed the man sounded.

Partly, Lauren agreed with him. Part pride and part suspicion would've made her turn down the offer flat. What Rosalie proposed was sketchy at best, and if she had been anyone else, Lauren would've turned her down. But this was Rosalie- she had at least a couple of decades of experience with cars, and Lauren really didn't want to spend any of her stash if she could help it. And the Cullens could more than afford whatever parts would be going into the truck. She did not see a huge problem of reaping the benefits of their wealth in a false sense of pride or morality, she was already technically stealing from a seventeen-year-old girl.

What was it to add stealing from a couple hundred or so year old vampires in the mix?

"I trust her, Charlie. As for the money thing, I'm going to wiggle my way in to pay for everything. I just agreed because she seemed to really want to work on the car," she lied easily.

Charlie grunts and she adds small bits of the garlic and pepper to the mashed potatoes, before she adds another dash of milk and some cheese.

"Fine. But I'll pay for the tires."

Lauren felt a flash of guilt. It was bad enough she already lived in his house without contributing to anything other than cooking and a few chores. Less than what she did at home.

"Charlie-"

"I bought the thing cheap. I should've replaced the tires when I did."

"I can pay for it," she countered mulishly, "I'm already on your insurance and you paid for the new plates and the registration-"

"Izzy," he said softly, shaking his head bemusedly, as he moved to the counter where his small deep fryer sat, "It's okay. It's my job to pay for things like this… Come on, save your money- For college. For stuff that matters."

Charlie looked at her earnestly, and firmly, and Lauren felt her eyes sting with tears and she nearly laughed at the panic she saw in his eyes in response. He was a good father, she thought faintly, a really good father.

"Half," she sniffed, compromising. And while she should've jumped at the chance for Charlie to pay for all of it, she had her pride… And her conscience.

He pursed his lips.

"You pay a quarter."

"Half or nothing, Chief."

"Fine," snorted the man, "God, you ever think about being a lawyer Izzy?"

She laughs.

"I don't think I could do so much paperwork."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I do not own Twilight in any sense. It's universe, characters all belong to its creator, Stephine Meyer, its publishing and broadcasting companies.
> 
> This is me, playing in its sandbox, making misshapen sandcastles.
> 
> Okay, guys, I am writing a lot for this story. More than I ever anticipated. I'm cranking out chapters at about 7,000 words long per chapter and my usual is about 3,000. It's not the longest I've ever done for a chapter, that dubious honor goes to Blooming Again, a Doctor Who fanfiction that averages about 10,000 words or so. But damn. I guess I had more to say about Twilight than I thought... I mean it makes sense, some of my earliest stuff posted on this site is Twilight(though I will be the first to admit the stories I wrote, taken down and even the ones I've left up are a pain to read over sometimes). But this is really surprising me at how fun it is to play in this sandbox again.
> 
> Damn Meyer for not taking advantage of it!
> 
> *1: One of my favorite songs by Eminem, Shake that Ass Ft. Nate Dogg dropped on the 17, January 2005. The technical date of this chapter is the 15th.
> 
> *2: Emmett always struck me as the most well adjusted of all of the Cullens. He also seems to be the one that seems... Almost comfortable in what he is. I won't go as far as Meyer and interpret that as a lack of respect of human life(Que a restrained sigh from me about how Meyer managed to fuck up Emmett in Midnight Sun as being someone who didn't see humans as creatures worthy of respect despite the fact that he is a 'vegetarian' and always seemed to enjoy being around Bella). But I always felt he just accepted and found joy in being what he was, of the simplicity of being strong, fast, able to take something down and loving his wife. I also never thought this would extend to him being able to accept changing anyone willy-nilly just because of some rules. Bella had wanted it. And he had respected that and only after he had gotten to know her(in the off-screen land of course) that he had voted to change her.
> 
> 3*: Headcanon. All the Cullens slip with slag and diction. I always thought Meyer meant to imply it, with how Bella seems to react on how Edward talked, but she was just kinda shit at writing it. Also, headcanon, Emmett, and Rosalie are the worst offenders of this and relish talking like they used to when they were human because they like damn slang. Anyone who disagrees can fight me because it's adorable damnit. 
> 
> Take a powder: To leave.
> 
> 4*: Debs: short for debutants, meaning young
> 
> 5*: Pill: idiot
> 
> 6*: Guming the Works: fucking up.
> 
> 7*: Eggs & Coffee: Easy
> 
> 8*: Meyer makes the vampires smell like fancy lotions or 'overly sweet' and the wolves/the Tribe like wet dog. Fuck that shit, that, my dear readers is what I think is unintentional racism on her part. I will not indulge in that myself. So the whole Tribe smells of Earth and Forests.
> 
> 9*: Research I do it. The model Meyer states(in the guide and lexicon) is Bella's truck could not go past 50 mph. Let alone 60 like she says in the book. I could make it an older model, but it wouldn't have the rounded features described. So newer engine and speedometer!
> 
> 10*: What happened to my sister has shaped me. I will say no more on the matter. It's not my pain to share more than in vagueness.
> 
> Happy Reading,
> 
> Moon Witch '96


	10. And So The Dick That Wants To Eat Me Is Back

****

**And So the Dick that Wants to Eat Me is Back**

Monday morning Lauren woke up with her stomach turning. She groaned, slamming the alarm she had set. She stared at the thick curtains she had placed on the window, noting that faintly, the small bells she had sewn a little clumsily on the very bottom shinned in the low light. She licks her lips before she got up.  _Today was the day_ , she thought, trying to ignore how ominous that sounded even in her head because Edward Cullen was coming back from his self-imposed exile in Alaska. She sighed, running a hand through her hair.

She called her sister. Two rings and she answered her.

"City Morgue, you stab 'em, we slab 'em," chimed her sister, a little tiredly, "This is eight-ball speakin' how may I direct your call?"

Lauren couldn't help it, despite her foul mood, that made her cackle like a hyena. It was stupid and really not funny- but it still made her laugh, and  _she needed that._ She took a breath before she talked:

"Hey, Miri… Today's the day," Lauren said, trying to sound okay with it.

Miriam knew her too well.

"You can always pretend to be sick," Miriam said thoughtfully, yawning, "Or stab him in the eye. Or fire. You like fire. It'd be a good way to test our theory if the Andy Warhol* is a walking talking roman candle?"

"I don't think that's going to help me, as tempting as that is," she muttered as she grabbed the first set of tights she could find that didn't have a hole and a decentish emerald dress. She headed to the bathroom, ignoring the sound of bells on her door(this provided by a horrendously green and red scrunchie, yes, an actual scrunchie around her doorknob with festive bells), bath things in hand and sighed a little at the fact that Charlie had already left for the morning.

She liked the man- but she didn't have to pretend when he wasn't in the house, she could relax a bit. Sometimes it was incredibly hard to behave the way he expected her to and while she tried to be as honest as she could be, she was a hermit by nature and having to live with a relative stranger amped her anxiety up to eleven. When he wasn't in the house, Lauren didn't have to worry if she was wearing a bra, or if her hair was a small halo of hair that defied gravity that was sticking in all directions.

She could just… Be comfortable. Three weeks were not enough to be completely at ease with anyone, no matter how awesome the mustache dad was. Hell, she was pretty sure that Charlie wasn't completely at ease with her either. She thinks that there both still adjusting to each other. Apparently, Bella had failed to mention in the book how much of a distance was between her and the police chief. Doesn't hover her ass, more like has no idea where he stood with her. Lauren felt that their heart to heart at least allowed that much to them.

"Well, you know the drill, keep him at a distance, don't throw your hair or anything in his direction, and be the first one at the table so that the heater is moving your scent towards the back instead of head-on."

Lauren sighs.

"I know. Even if the heating circulates the room, at least it isn't straight in his stupid face."

"Good girl."

"Text you after every class?"

"Yes, please. I love you, Lauren," says her sister quietly, warm and soft.

Lauren feels herself smile.

"Love you, too Miriam," she responds, just as soft, before she hangs up.

Shaking her head, she showers, slowly, because she woke up insanely early and she has time, slurping up all the hot water. She slowly unwinds her muscles, focuses on breathing and the beat of the music she has playing on her phone. Shower time is her time- so she takes her damn time with and allows for the water to grow cold after she finishes shampooing her hair. Her breakfast, well that she skips, because Edward Anthony Masen Cullen is back and she feels herself wanting to hurl at the thought of it. The drive to school is rainy and she's blasting the Weeknd, and she leaves the house early because she's so on edge. And because she knows if she loiters, she's going to skip the entire day.

When she gets to the parking lot, she realizes that she's about an hour early to class, only a few cars in the parking lot. Club kids, she thinks with a sigh, before she swings onto her back, debating reading before she feels like she can't, and then debates drawing a bit before she realizes she's too amped up as well. She sighs, staring at the ceiling of her truck, letting the Weeknd's Reminder wash over her. She decides to take a nap, giving herself about thirty minutes to at least zone out before she left her car.

She's about twenty minutes in when someone knocks on her window.

Blinking her heavy eyes, she lifts her head to see her fellow Lauren- face pinched and slightly irate. She shuts off her music, and swings up, unlocks the door, and let's the utterly soaked girl into her truck. She rummaged behind her, grabbing a large towel and giving it wordlessly to the girl. Lauren M. took the towel with a strange look on her face before it went around her shoulders and she started to rub her long, luscious blonde hair. She was silent for a beat, her teeth chattering slightly. Lauren took it as her cue to turn on her car and heater, the softer rumble via Rosalie, and discreetly shoved her phone under the skirt of her dress.

"God. You're such a mom. I swear you're like Mary Poppins when you do shit like that," says Lauren M., shaking her head with a slight smirk, "Do you even carry cough drops?"

Lauren lifts a brow at the younger girl- waiting and assessing to what brought the girl to her truck in the first place. Her lower lip trembles and the blonde let out a huff of hair.

"What are you even doing here at school anyway?"

Lauren shrugs.

"I was tempted to ditch today. I knew if I didn't get my ass to school I wouldn't come at all."

Lauren M. blinks her expressive and gorgeous green eyes.

"And here I thought you were a nerd. You got balls, Swan."

Lauren smiled.

"I  _am_  a nerd. But nerds have balls too, blondie."

Lauren M. laughs, shaking her head.

"Okay, Okay," she mummers, dropping the towel around her shoulders, "I wanted to ask if you were mad at me and Jess. She said you would be, for what we said about Emmett Cullen. I'm not really that good at making friends, and most people just call me a fucking bitch and tolerate me because Tyler's my boyfriend and I run the cheerleading squad."

Lauren blinks, and blinks again, wondering at the fact that even Queen Bee's have their insecurities.

"Hey, I may have overreacted. I don't make friends that easily either, Lauren Mallory, " she told her honestly, leaning on the seat, finding herself smiling, "It's just a sore spot for me. I don't really care about dating, and I got enough shit for that before. I overreacted, even if you guys did push me."

She doesn't point out that she is under a shit ton of pressure via supernatural shenanigans, which was the real reason she had overreached. She had honestly forgotten about her kinda blow up on Friday at Jessica and Lauren M.- dealing with the possible implications of the Pack, the elder Cullen couple zoning in on her and adamantly wanting to be her friends- Well, it had honestly slipped her mind. But evidently, it did bother Lauren Mallory to a bigger extent then Lauren would have believed.

"So no hard feelings?" and as Lauren M. looks at her, she sees a horrible vulnerability that comes to all teenagers, fear of lack of acceptance, fear of not being liked.

It is horrible that the sight of it leaves Lauren feeling both old and horrible nostalgic. Part of her thinks it's because she never had such an opportunity to really be a teenager. It was the reason why she had loved Bella's character when she was eleven. Because she had connected with Bella's claim to be burdened with taking care of a parent at a young age. She had matured, in part because of how her father's disease had degraded over time, as well as for what had happened to her sister. It was a lot of stress, on a child that young, she acknowledged, and it was a reason she had lost herself so deeply into the escapist that reading offered.

Lauren had never really  _allowed_ herself to be a teenager, not really. She had never had any big rebellions against her parents because they were poor and her father was incredibly sick for her to put more stress on him by being  _stupid_. She had never fallen into the whole drama aspect that seemed to drive most of her friends, had focused hard on school and art, knuckled down on responsibility. It had been her armor, her drive to keep from crumbling down. Not because she had been above or blind to it- but rather because certain things were pushed aside for how little importance they were to her in comparison to other things.  _Who cared if the guy I have a crush on doesn't like me because I'm fat? My father just had his second heart attack and is having an experimental mechanical pump put into him so he has a better chance of living until a heart transplant._

It hadn't helped that she more or less had become like a therapist to most of her friends. It was an odd day when she didn't have a friend leaning against her shoulder to sob their heart out over how their boyfriend or girlfriend had broken their heart. Or how worried they were that a person didn't like them back as much as they liked them. Another reason that Lauren had been reluctant to date in high school.

"Water under the bridge, Mallory," she said softly, smiling at the younger girl.

Lauren M. gives her a smile in return, sweeping away that vulnerable expression. If Lauren had learned anything in the twenty years of life, it was how to be good at comforting people.

**OOOOOOO**

Edward Cullen had a faint feeling of dread as he walked towards the biology classroom. He knew she was there- Isabella Swan. She had gone ahead of both the Newton boy and Angela Weber, a smile on her face as she departed from the table of the more popular children of Forks High School. She had waved her binder in their faces at their complaints, claiming to want to get a start on her English homework and 'Couldn't do that with your asses making so much noise' and walked off amongst the hoots and jeers of her classmates, somehow not taking offense at the crass language.

Most of them had even laughed.

And there she was, at their shared desk- The creature that smelled so devastatingly good, made his throat burn white hot and his mouth filled with venom, nearly causing him to drool like some sort animal. _And that was what this child had reduced him to- a frothing drooling animal that had been so ready to slaughter a room with children and one man just so he could relish in that girl, devour her,_ _ **consume**_ _every last drop of her blood inside of him and warming every corner of his body to the point of agonizing, delicious ecstasy_.

It was a curious, but intoxicating mix: the sharp smell of lime( _Everlasting_ ), tempered by the sweetness and liveliness of orange blossoms( _Purity_ ) and the softness of lavender( _Devotion_ ), all enhanced with the smell of the earth after the rain( _cleansing_ ). He wondered, absently, if the last one was a product of living in Forks, and if her scent was different in the heat and dryness of the Arizona sun… If it was better and more potent…. His mouth watered at the thought before he pushed the thought viciously aside.  _I will not fall into temptation, I am_ _ **stronger**_ _than my base desires, no matter how strong._

He had not understood. Not quite, when he had caught just faded remains of her smell on Carlisle's jacket and Esme's clothes. Carlisle always burned whatever clothes he took to the hospital for the sake of Jasper, to prevent any lingering scent of blood and death off of him. And Esme, sweet Esme had been around so many humans after she had moved away from the girl- it had become muddled and lost underneath the stench of other people and the food she had purchased to donate across state lines. He had only caught a hint- a small lingering scent of sweetness and had felt thirst afterward but had not really thought too much of it.

But oh. Oh, a week ago he had nearly killed her.

He had been so close, nearly sprang from his seat the second the smell had hit him, thrown his way by the faulty heater, blowing the short strands of her hair and the overpowering smell towards him. But he had stopped himself, mustered the restraint and the will to prevent himself from becoming a monster again- but this time he would not have the false self-righteousness of being judge, jury, and executioner. Destroying a part of himself, harming Carlisle and devastating Esme... He sat and allowed Banner to do his half-hearted lecture before he fell back into his standard of giving the pages to read and sitting and reading an inappropriate novel behind his desk.

Now, she was just as oblivious as she had been last week, doing as Banner bid. Seated daintily, with crossed legs beneath her on the hard school chair. She leaned on her right hip, earbuds in place absently chewing on her lip as she stared at the book in front of her.

Edward wanted to understand her- She  _seemed_  friendly, but the girl was constantly quiet, did not invite conversation. He had seen that with her interactions with the popular children, she never started the conversation herself. He wouldn't go as far to say that the girl was shy, not really, how could she be when she could banter so well with Crowley or talked so admittedly with Angela over the latest book she had been reading( _Curious, to Edward, she had been reading Pride and Prejudice, he wouldn't have pegged the girl for a classical fan with her dark attire, not to mention she had also mentioned reading at the same time some sort of fantastical book about a wizard detective_ ). But here they were, ten minutes into sitting next to each other and the girl had yet to say a word.

Instead, she was diligently reading the passage as per Mr. Banner's instructions, humming tunelessly and writing down notes in her binder. She had horrible writing- a confusing mess of loops and hasty scribbles that would have made his schoolmaster take out the cane. But she wrote it quickly, highlighted keywords in different colors- wrote color-coded notes with brightly colored gel pens with small doodles to support her notes.

She never looked at her notes- when she studied, the girl tended to quiz other people and seemed to be doing fine. The minds of the teachers seemed to imply that the girl was intelligent but distant in class. She was somewhat attentive but doodled and spaced out more often than not. But she still did well in class, straight As.

She hummed, a soft sound before she shook her head as if she hadn't intended to do that. And she did this all without a look in his direction. It was not as if the classroom was quiet- in fact, most of the children were blathering away mindlessly as they took notes, illy no doubt. But not the girl. Edward was mildly astounded, as he had yet to see such a diligent student. It spoke about the girl, she was serious, which he would have never guessed by her somewhat lack of application that had done in her other classes, perhaps it was because she attained information much more easily from textbooks then from the lackluster teachers that Forks provided(he does not blame her for it, even pities her because he can sympathies having been forced again and again through the drudgery of incompetent teachers). She was quiet but he would never have guessed her to be serious because she got along so well with the popular children.

She was a puzzle and much to ever mounting frustration, her silent mind stayed that way- silent and eluding him.

"Hello," he started, trying to keep his voice soothing, it wouldn't do to scare the girl. It was for that same reason that he kept his smile close-lipped, "My name is Edward Cullen, I believe we have yet to meet properly."

Her purple pen froze and the girl swiveled her head in his direction. Her big gray eyes- they looked green because of her dark emerald dress- blinked. She licked her tiny, plump lips, a quick swipe of her delicate, pink tongue. He blinked, trying desperately not to breathe her scent.

"Oh, Hi. Right, sorry, I'm not used to having someone at the desk with me," she smiled, a quick quirk of her small lips, exposing even teeth for a fraction of a second, "I'm Izzy. Izzy Swan."

Automatically it seemed, she extended her hand for a shake. Strange for a teenage girl, but she was surely aware of it because she started to withdraw the hand quickly. But Edward extended his hand anyway, capturing her small hand easily halfway through its retreat. He marveled at how small it was- at how her plumpish fingers just radiated warmth, at just her touch, he felt a small spark, a current of something he could not comprehend at the meeting of their hands. She shook, seemingly not noting the different temperatures or the shock as Edward had. His eyes flickered downward at their hands meeting, seemingly polar opposite. Her's warm and small, his frigid and large, he could encompass her entire fist in his hand if he so chooses. He quickly let go of her hand.

"Nice to meet you," here her smiled sharpened somewhat, "Emmett mentioned you had the flu. Are you feeling better?"

Edward frowned at the casual mention of his brother. They were getting close- Emmett had warned him just this morning not to hurt the girl, uncouthly placed him in a headlock because she was ' _Pretty cool and has a future'._  His sister and brother's mind on the ride she had given them to their home during one of Rosalie's episodes- how she had been willing to stop her extension of friendship if they were uncomfortable with her small talk as it was. She had said it with a smile on her face and then of course that Saturday afternoon they spent with Rosalie inspecting her car.

Pleasant, Emmett and Rosalie laughing in a way that hadn't in years, the girl surprisingly mature and charming when she spoke, a plethora of references and various intellectual interjections that most would not hear below the level of college Academia. Edward did not like that. It would not do for them to become friendly, it was bad enough that this girl smelled as she did. Emmett and Rosalie for that matter, should not be interacting with her. But they kept going back, grinning as they waved at her or as they talked between classes...

"Yes, I was quite ill," he supplied evenly and he smiled again, "But I am much better, thank you."

"Cool."

And at that, she moved as if to return to her notes.

"So, I heard that you're interested in Art?"

The girl froze, heart, beating slightly faster. She turned to him in surprise. Her cheeks, round and with just a dusting of a tan already fading in the lack of sun, turned a rosy color.

"Is Emmett talking about me?"

_Ah, so the girl is infatuated. Typical. Well, we are beautiful to them, I suppose._

Edward was surprised at how disappointed he felt- perhaps he had been hoping for a different mental process to go with that silent mind.

"Rosalie mentioned it- though Emmett did say that you were very good at it," he didn't want to disappoint the girl too much, poor dear, liking a Vampire and a brute like Emmett beyond that, "I've dare to say they both talk about you often. It's been awhile since my family… Has made a friend."

The girl blinked.

"Oh, Rosalie too? I'm glad. I thought she didn't like me," she laughs, smiling again, "But then again she's the epitome of the bitch face. She's incredibly difficult to read sometimes… I swear she likes my truck more then she likes me."

He stares at her, in complete surprise. She's smiling in pleasure at the thought of Rosalie liking her. So not infatuated, then, she had been blushing in embarrassment. How odd. He is idiotically pleased by the turn of events.  _Much more of a mystery, then,_ he tells himself, smiling.

"I'm afraid you never answered my question," he prompted.

The girl rolled her eyes, but not maliciously.

"Yeah, sorry. I am interested in Art," she smiles, wide and it's really a beam, full and inviting. It surprises him because he sees that she flushes when she's pleased and it becomes her rosy complexion and her green-grey eyes crinkle and shine, "I hope to be an Artist… Hopefully not starving."

"Ah, not a very stable career, is it?"

"I guess not. Then again, that's mostly a stigma because of the whole trend of the Bohemian- living for art's sake is a torture and all that jazz- there are fairly stable careers within the art world. And it's what I want to do- Follow your dream and all that. I can't imagine being stuck in a job that I hate. Been there, done that, all I got was a lousy t-shirt. Well, I actually stole the t-shirt but that is neither here nor there."

Edward blinked.

"You've thought long about this," he pointed it, brows furrowed. And it had seemed as she had, despite her… Colorful phrasing. That small spark of intellect had impressed Rosalie and Emmett.

The girl frowned.

"Well, yeah. Why wouldn't I?"

"Most seventeen-year-olds don't."

Her lips curled.

"But some do, obviously. What about you, what is in the cards for you, Mister Cullen?"

"Oh, well, I want to become a Doctor, like Carlisle."

She raises a brow.

"Pretty lofty goal," here, she gives that sharp smile, "Not queasy are you? Frankly, as much as I admire the medical field all the various bodily fluids always off-put me from joining it."

Edward has to stop himself from laughing aloud. He was out of breath and needed to inhale to continue talking. He breathed, enduring the beautiful burn of her scent down his throat. It was so…

_Delicious._

"You have a fear of blood?" he chuckles at the irony of the thought- The girl's whose blood he wanted to drain dry had a fear of it*.

The girl blinks and then snorts.

"Actually no. I'm fine with blood. I've worked with my blood on an Art project- It's the other stuff- saliva and urine of other people- that is _extremely_ off-putting."

"You've worked with your _blood_  on an Art project?"

He is both fascinated and disgusted, the art of his time had been beautiful and exploration of form and light*. He could not get behind the more modern art. Part of him, that monster in the bottom of his burning throat is frustrated that this creature in front of him, this frail, little creature with the bright eyes and the intoxicating scent has wasted some of the nectar that runs through her veins on something as silly as a piece of art. She waves a dismissive hand.

"Well, yeah. It was an exploration of the body with the body. It took a while to collect the blood too, I gathered it up in a little glass vial and stored it in the fridge- Nearly had a heart attack when my mom threw it away so I had to start all over. It was a failed project anyway, just an experiment," she wrinkled her nose, "It looked horrible and that was mostly because I am not a painter."

He laughed.

"Isabella Swan, you are curious person."

She looked at him, grey eyes green and intent. She placed her chin in her hand, caressing her round face with her infinitely small fingertips. There was something in her gaze- a contemplation- an assessment that made him freeze, curious and wondering what her gaze meant- to what was going through her mind. But even as he pushed, as the minds he had been ignoring came to the forefront as he actively tried, no whisper of her voice became his to listen to- she was silent and out of reach. And she was still staring at him, assessing, calculating in a way that had he had a heartbeat, his would be pounding.

"So are you, Edward Cullen. Now, as lovely as this chat is- I want to finish this reading so I don't have any homework- Talk to you later, Cullen."

"Edward is fine," he corrected, smiling.

She blinked, licked her lips, nodded and went back to the assignment.

"Okay. Call me Izzy, then, Isabella is a little too… Not me," she said, distantly, flicking her small fingertips in his direction. She then popped in her earphones listing calmly to her bizarre music and returning to her notes.

She did not so much as look in his direction for the duration of the class. In fact, she gave no other indication that she cared that he was there. He made a show of lifting and dropping his chest in a mockery of breathing, the taste of her scent pooling and festering in his venom-filled mouth. When the bell rang, he fled the classroom and sucked in a breath of fresh air away from her.

He did not see how her grey eyes followed him, or how her shoulders slumped in sheer relief as he left.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

When Lauren entered her art class, she was greeted with two worried looks pinned on the door. Faintly, as she gave as casual as a wave as she could to the Cullen couple, she realized that they had, on some level, been worried shitless for her and her encounter with Edward. Emmett was a bundle of large, uneasy energy- right leg jiggling up and down in an almost unnatural way, his broad shoulders hunched and uneasy. When he spots her coming in the door, his shoulders relax and big movement that has her blinking, because it's in obvious relief. Rosalie is less obvious, subtle in her worry- she simply removed her hand from her husband's shoulder, her eyes, which had been narrowed and pinched, relaxed into her usually half-lidded boredness, and her mouth parted into a natural pout.

Part of Lauren felt a brief, but pointedly there flash of warmth and affection for these two supernatural creatures.

Because they were  _worried_. Someone other her realized the level of shit she was in as Edward's singer. Miriam knew of course, but couldn't do  _anything_ for her. Billy was worried, but more in an abstract way of 'oh shit, vampires are sniffing around my best friend's daughter'. And for her part, Lauren couldn't exactly call in the cavalry via Billy- as of then, as far as she knew, only Sam was turned. And no matter which way you slice it, seven vampires against a single wolf was shit odds. Especially considering how the Pack had hunted as a, well, pack in the novels. But here, here were two supernatural creatures, with the agency and the power to actually do something about the situation, that were in her corner to some extent.

Allies, she was well aware.

A more cynical part of her felt a righteous fury at the fact that fact that these inhuman beings existed at all. But it was more of a helpless, self-directed fury. Because she had come to Twi-World, she had, unbidden, been thrown into this mess. She was in  _their_  territory. Not the other way around. She was not in her world, the rules didn't apply. Yet another part of her, the calculating bitch in her that she had tried to temper, was already hoping that she could turn their worry to her advantage.

But most of her… Most of her just felt tired in that moment. Exhausted, in fact. Because her life had become a shit show of intrigue and supernatural beings that wanted to  _eat_ her. She forced a grin on her face, trying to ignore the urge to walk right out of the classroom and straight into her truck, destination anywhere but there.

"Hey," she said, sitting down with a careless flop before she set about extending a new drawing sheet of paper as well as the rest of her things, "Happy Monday."

_Fake it till you can lose your shit._

Rosalie gave her well-deserved look of disgust.

"Happy Monday?" she asked, raising an arched brow of sheer bitchy perfection, "Oh sweet lord you're an optimist."

Lauren laughed- not altogether forced.

"Fuck if I am!" she said with a roll of her eyes, and a natural grin coming to her mouth, "I'm an anxious and depressed ridden grump that is trying not to lose her mind and make shit happy-ish. So I repeat, happy Monday."

Emmett grinned.

"Happy Monday, squirt!"

Lauren blinked before she looked at Emmett with a bitchy raised brow of her own. She spread out her pencils, frowning at the older being.

"No, Emmett Cullen don't you dare call me squirt. I've suffered through enough idiotic nicknames."

Emmett just grinned.

"Like what?"

"Guera," she said, ticking them off of her fingers, "Flaca, Chabella, Chabells, Vampira, Chicken legs, Slim Shady-"

"Woah, Woah, you speak Spanish?" and Emmett is just blinking at her, most likely at her flawless(if she said so herself) exaltation of the rs and flow of sounds.

She sighs, automatically, at the astonishment of the fact that fact that she spoke Spanish. A common reaction to her pale complexion and 'white' looking features. A common annoyance that had many people questioning the fact that her parents were from Mexico, or that her and her sister, who had inherited their father's darker coloring of tannish skin and brown eyes as well as outrageously thick, black curls, weren't sisters at all. More than often called a lesbian couple when they held hands in public because Miriam had a terrible sense of direction. A stigma that had had her  _scolded_ when she had worn a Frida Kahlo costume last Halloween for appropriating someone 'else's' culture.

"Of course I do. It's-" Lauren stops mid annoyed rant, wanting to smack herself over the fact that she was just about to say 'it's my first language'. She licked her lips, blinking at the annoyance curled in her throat before she threw it aside, improvising hastily, "My neighbors only spoke Spanish and I wanted to play with their kids really bad. So I learned it."

"Hablas el Espanol bien, o asi asi*?" asked Rosalie, furrowing her brow at Lauren.

Lauren shrugged.

"Fluente, si cres sabre. Hablo mejor que lo leo o escribo*."

Emmett raised a brow, grinning in silent delight.

"Vampira?"

"The boy next door knocked out all of my front baby teeth," she said, rolling her eyes at the fact that it had been her brother, Andrew, not any neighbor, "Except for my canines. My adult teeth took forever to grow in… I also had a habit of biting people if they upset me."

"Guera?"

"I'm pale as fuck and that was weird to my Mexican neighbors."

"Chabela, Chabels?"

"A common nickname to people named Isabel or Isabella."

"Flaca?" and that was Rosalie, looking curious despite herself.

Lauren sighed.

"I was severely underweight until puberty."

"Slim Shady?"

"A boy couldn't remember my name and I told him to guess it each time he saw me. It got to the point where he got frustrated and started calling me Slim Shady until he learned my name. It stuck for a while. Now, what the hell is this," she asked with an eye roll, "The Spanish Inquisition?"

In unison, the two vampires said, "But nobody expects it*!"

Lauren cracked up, and the vampires laughed as well, Emmett especially, bending over in his humor.

"Oh come on, do you two have stupid nicknames?"

Rosalie grinned, gesturing to her husband.

"I call him my Teddy-Emmy. Or monkey-man because he's super gymnastic."

 _TMI,_ thought Lauren, with a slight wince. But she marveled, that just like Angela being an editor to the newspaper, that the name had transferred over from the movie.

"Ah, damn it Rose," muttered Emmett, ducking his head, "Did you have to bring up Teddy-Emmy?"

Lauren snorts, realizing that the whole 'teddy' bit was also a morbid nod to the reason why Emmett McCarty 'Cullen' wasn't a geriatric in Tennessee or dead ten feet under. It seemed that the older Cullen kids had a gallows type of humor that she appreciated.

"How about you Rosalie?"

Rosalie shrugged.

"Not one for nicknames… Just Rose or Rosie. Now, why the hell were you called chicken legs?"

Lauren rolls her eyes and lifts her leg onto the table in a flexible way that both of the vampires blinking.

"Cause my legs are shapely but thin in comparison to my torso."

Rosalie rolls her eyes.

"Those nicknames are horrible and mean-spirited for the most part."

Lauren shrugged.

"Kinda of the point of most Mexican nicknames, poking gentle fun at the one it's for. Affectionately mean-spirited, I would say."

Emmett nods, sagely.

"I'm still calling you squirt then."

"Fuck you, Teddy-Emmy."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1*: Andy Warhol did wonderful things for the art scene... But he was also a major dick, a narcissist and all around bad guy. Me and my sister agreed that it fit Wardo really well.
> 
> 2*: Um, not really irony. But eh, Meyer called it such in Midnight Sun, so ha, Edward doesn't understand irony!
> 
> 3*: Edward ignores DADA. Because most people at the time did, even though it was awesome.
> 
> 4*: Do you speak Spanish well, or only so-so(sounds less awkward in Spanish)?
> 
> 5*: Fluently, if you want to know. I speak it better than I read or write it.
> 
> 6*: Monty Python. Hilarious.


	11. Closed Minds

**Closed Minds**

' _Open Book'_

" _Now every day I see you in some other face… They crack a smile, talk a while … Try to take your place," George Michael, 1990._

_24 January 2005_

The girl is watching the snowfall.

Whilst her peers are gallivanting around the small layer of snow before class at his family's arrival, Isabella Swan is sitting on the roof of her car, quietly, watching it fall. Her music, strange and still much too loud, is playing and she watches with wide eyes. Face flushed a soft red on her still fading tan( _her clear, dusty complexion fading into a creamy thing that highlights how rosy she turns, how flushed her round checks could be_ ). She has a blanket across her legs, and some sort of thermos with a drink in one hand, something she is carefully sipping with gloved hands bringing them to her small lips. She ignores the other humans even when they asked for her to play with them, but she simply lifts her thermos in a 'cheers' gesture and atop of her ghastly truck and watches. Peaceful, grey eyes distant as she watches the small crystallin snow fall upon everything.

"It's my first snowfall," she had said, quietly, and the popular children leave her to her quiet activity, and from a distance, Edward tries desperately to understand, "Or at least the first time I've seen it fall in front of me..."

It is in the nature of the children to fall back to play at the slight change of weather, when the sun is out they roll across wet grass despite the lower temperature of the Pacific Northwest, and at the first snowfall of the year, they always toss it to each other in careless abandon and competition. But the girl is simply sitting and watching, seemingly content, her boots softly thumping across her windshield as she swings her legs in a slightly agitated gesture. It is the only thing that indicates unease and ruins the general impression of stillness the girl was giving. But it was also an absent-minded one...

" _Feels like I've been living in a dream… But never make it to the end… My eyes open when they feel the light… It's always right before I'm about to scream,_ " sang out an average, but passionate voice. Edward could not place the singer, even with his knowledge of music, vast as it was, "... _Younger now..._ "

The girl seemed completive at the moment, and the song fit well enough. Her music was ever changing, unstatic in choice. No rhyme nor reason to her choice of listening. Edward had yet to determine her favorite genre of music, even with the frequency of her listening to music(driving, between classes, in the classes that allowed it). It jumped too often, though it seemed the girl gravitated with vocal niceties with instrumental prowess or beat being a secondary standard. Lyrics were varied, male and female voices in chorus, in different languages, Spanish mostly, ranging from rhythmic reggaeton to soft power ballads, but Japanese aplenty and to his surprise, what he faintly recognized as Hebrew, some sort of hymn with a giant chorus.

Emmett and Rosalie, growing ever bolder, ever more in love with the concept of a simple friendship outside of the family, as the most isolationist of them, are already heading her way bouncing with anticipation. They had driven today, in Emmett's jeep, which delights many of the young boys about the school. Emmett is eager to ask the girl's opinion on some video game that had come out recently, something about a rescue mission for a president daughter or something of the like. Ghoulish images of digital monsters flicker in his mind, clawing things and Edward frowns at Emmett's obvious eagerness to scare the girl with something of horror. He does not expect the girl to know of it, or to even play video games as it was a childish pastime, so he doesn't know why Emmett bothers. The girl though mullish and against authority as typical to children* of that age is far more mature than a typical girl of seventeen and would surely dismiss his brother's eagerness for something so juvenile.

Rosalie herself is of another mind- she has her designs in her backpack, eager to show off her thoughts of colors for the Beast that the girl drives. Another point of confusion for Edward, as he does not think that the girl is very eager to be driving what she does, as she did not buy it for herself nor seemed attracted to such things as his sister. The work that Rosalie is planning would increase its value of course, but such a girl like Isabella Swan will surely sell it the second she has the means to, perhaps to a junk heap for all its 'classic' value as Rosalie had fumed to him the other day for discouraging her to paint such a lackluster car.

The girl likes pretty things, after all, if her need to dress in clothing with a slightly vintage edge, moving away from crop tops and miniskirts that the other girls of her age and in this decade seemed to adore. It reminds him of the 50s, all a-line skirts and high waisted shorts, darker and muted colors, yes, but with a love of many flower prints. Pretty things, feminine things. Of course, Rosalie was such an exception with her love of vehicles, but that is more for what they do for her and what they used to represent than an aesthetic value.

The girl could not be as complex or contradictory or see much value on something that is so standard in this modern age. The truck will not have been her first choice of vehicle, he is sure. He can see her in a small, diminutive thing… Perhaps one of the smaller Porsche if she would ever get such income. Blood red, he thinks, amused at the very thought of such an image. She likes red. Most of her objects, save her clothing, are red. She most likely loathes the large thing that her father could provide on a civil servant's salary.

"Izzy!" that is Rosalie, and the girl jumps slightly atop her lonely perch. She slips away her headphones, tucking into an inside pocket of her jacket, her calm, wondering face fading into a friendly smile.

Part of him finds himself irritated at the loss of her innocent expression, for reasons he cannot fathom. Even if her next expression is a smile, something tenses in her small, round face, perhaps the way her eyes cloud, or the nervous way she licks at her lips...

"Good morning," calls the girl softly, as she slowly makes her way to slip off the top of the cab, directly perhaps into the bed before she climbs down from the seven or so feet.

To his horror, Emmett goes to her hands extended in invitation. The girl blinks but easily reaches back out, Rosalie taking her thermos and blanket. Emmett is grabbing at her waist to aide her down, hands so large they completely circle her thin hips. His brother than holds her in an easy embrace, something that startled the girl, but it is still easily returned.

The girl gives the giant man a quick squeeze around the neck and a softer, wider smile when he puts her on the ground, her face relaxing more. The smell through Emmett's mind does not pull Edward to near madness, but the way that Emmett quietly delights on how warm the diminutive girl does nearly does. It is not a sexual delight, of course, Emmett would never dare think of anyone but his wife, but a startled one in which his brother vividly realizes how they used to feel as humans.

But there is a horror in his thoughts as well, at how easily breakable his new friend is, on how much he could so easily hurt her if he grabbed her waist a little harder if he put her down much too quickly or with too much force.

Edward does not realize he is grinding his teeth until Jasper nudges him in the shoulder, and raises a single brow.

 _Ye'll startle the humans,_ says Jasper's voice in his head, deliberate, the usual chatter of his head slowing to a halt at the projected message. It, unlike his speaking voice, still has the drawl of a Texan, careful and like honey.

The strength of their teeth evidently made such an action louder then he would have thought and Edward forces his jaw to relax.

"Pardon. You know how reckless Emmett can be," he muttered.

Jasper simply relaxes his brow and gives him a slow blink in response. His mind is full of constant strains of thought, jumping rapidly, trying to sort through the projected strain of over four-hundred sentient creatures in his range*. Those emotions flow through him, pulling him into them, at moments he is consumed with an eagerness of the snow, a playful smile flickering upon his face, the other he is wincing at the force of some poor girl's cramps, forcing himself not to hunch over at the phantom twist of pain. His thoughts are the most chaotic of any creature he has ever met, so rarely does Jasper's voice filter through in his head with coherency, or at least concerning an action thought or muses to himself. Until he had met Isabella Swan, Edward had thought that Jasper to be the most difficult creature to read.

_They're puttin' us at a tactical disadvantage. If this gets any riskier I'ma request an absquatulate* with Carlisle, I don' want Alice in no elephant*. It's not as if they want to change the girl._

Alice, foot tapping, is also looking in the direction of the girl, a deep frown on her waifish face. She is practically vibrating in her place, hands twisted in little impatient claws at her sides.

"Why on earth can't I meet her?" she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet, "They've been so mean."

_If I can meet her, surely I would be able to see?_

Emmett and Rosalie have been possessive of the girl, blocking Alice and warning both Edward and Jasper to keep their distance. It was a prudent choice- but Edward wished that his 'older' siblings would follow their own stipulations. The girl was dangerous… With how she smelled… With her evident blockage of all of their gifts.

"I still can't feel her," said Jasper, quietly, instead of responding to his wife's comment, his mind seemingly in the same place as Edward's.

He reaches out, to Emmett's eagerness and warmth, to Rosalie's mixture of affection and wariness, and when he tries for the girl he gets… Nothing. As if she wasn't there at all. Alice frowns again, but annoyance laces her thoughts.

"And I can't see her in my visions," she mutters, fussing with her designer, velvet skirt. It is her way of distracting herself, from the way she had realized that any time the girl was a factor, she received no visions about the girl, no matter how much she concentrated on her.

It was as if she made no decisions, even when it was evident she did and no visions regarding her interaction with people ever came to Alice, leaving her with an enormous blind spot. It was one of the reasons Jasper was so cagey over her increasing proximity to Alice, even by proxy- he saw a tactical disadvantage over the lost of Alice's visions.

"She is a void," said Edward, watching her, as she flipped through Rosalie's color choices, "She just… Isn't real. As if she drags everything in."

Her small face flushed, her round cheeks creased in her beaming smile. The girl, where she to have a happy life, would grow laugh lines. She had dimples, he noticed in her chin, two, at the right corner of her mouth, small and hardly noticeable.

"I thought Elzear said she could be a shield? A very powerful one?"

Edward gave a shrug, blinking at the fact that he had said that aloud.

"Seems to be. Her father is difficult to read for me. Almost like inefficient sound-proofing."

He had thought the man mentally slow, wondering that it had never occurred to him that it was Edward own ineffectiveness as a telepath. Alice tapped her foot.

"I've never tried to see Charlie Swan. Perhaps-"

"He's her father. I got limited emotions from him, surface, the more powerful ones, perhaps," interrupted Jasper, voice clipped, it was not as a slight towards Alice, but because Mike Newton, who was passing in front of them, was severally annoyed as he too was looking in the girl's direction, "For you, cher belle, he would automatically be blocked if he lives with her. Unless you focus on him now, when he's away from her."

 _So surprising that a Cullen has the urge to grace someone with their presence,_ came Mike's voice, his hands fisted around a snowball he was readying to aim at his brother's head. Edward blinked in astonishment at the line of thought as the boy threw the snowball with the grace of a somewhat practiced pitcher, he was after all, in that position on the school baseball team. The snowball arced, and though Emmett tensed in anticipation, sensing or perhaps hearing the arc of the packed snow, he did not move to dodge it. It smashed against his head in an explosion of powder, spraying both Rosalie and the surprised Isabella. The girl jumped back, eyes wide and her hand rubbing at the quickly melting powder.

"Dude what the heck!" was her scream, "This means war, Michael Newton!"

The boy flushed, he could see, through Rosalie's irate eyes at the snow sticking in her hair as ice crystals. They hardly emanate heat, as humans did and it would not melt quickly.

"Um-"

Emmett's grin, through Mike's eyes, was vicious.

"Come on Squirt," said Emmett, cracking his knuckles, "Let's show these kids what's what."

**OOOOOOOOO**

Lauren was both startled, and incredibly grateful how easy it was to become Isabella Swan. The best thing about it was that most people she interacted with had never known Isabella, making it much easier for her. No one batted an eyelash at her different personality, at her hobbies, nor thought her out of place in comparison to a girl they had never known. Even Renee, her own mother, was so far away with infrequent, expensive calls and scare emails that Lauren could fake it reasonably well, using simple non-committal wording and phrases.

" _Izzy, you know you can come home at any time, right sweetheart?" asked Renee, softly voice far away._

_Lauren was both unsure if Renee's voice was distant if it was because she was semi-distracted about the fact that she was calling from a pay-phone with limited change(_ _**now that was strange to think of real payphones in such a plenty, she had physically starred in mild surprise when she had noticed one in the parking lot of the Grocery store** _ _), or because the older woman was trying to convince herself that her offer was genuine. Lauren was not convinced either way. Renee called very frequently, at least every week and sent an email every day if she could manage it, but she also sounded happy to be separated from her daughter with her new husband. At least she spoke so happily of her time touring the country with the minor league team and her new husband._

_Had she been Isabella Swan, Lauren would have been terribly crushed at the woman's reaction- even if she had left Phoenix with the purpose of allowing her mother to have time with her new husband. As she wasn't, Lauren felt a faint feeling of pity, even despite the obvious effort the supposedly flakey and forgetful Renee was trying to stay in contact with her daughter in a day and age were cellphones were not yet the norm. Renee's happiness was not terrible in itself, but being excluded from it would hurt anyone no matter how happy you were for them. Especially how close Bella had stated she was to her mother._

_Lauren also a faint one of unease, as, according to a couple interviews Meyer had originally intended for Phill to have been making_ _**advances** _ _on the seventeen-year-old Bella as another reason for leaving to live with her father. That seemed not to be the case as far as she could guess from the little interaction she had had with Phil, but it was one of the many reasons that Lauren had axed any thought of getting as far away from the Cullens as she could. Other than, of course, the unknown factor of Southern Vampires more brutal feeding habits and her extra nice scent. She knew the basics of the Northern Vampires in more detail on top of it and felt more confident about staying alive._

" _I know," she said, faintly, an automatic response. Renee asked the question in every call, and as a postscript in all of her emails._

" _How's school, honey?"_

_Lauren tried not to sigh at the small talk, or the awkwardness she felt. Instead, she describes her very typical experience and how nice everyone was._

Charlie was more then a little estranged from his daughter for the same reason and seemed to have taken the switch as if he was just coming to understand her better.

It was just a couple things really, beyond that, as she hardly tempered her real personality, it was more of a couple behaviors that she no longer could do in front of other people. She had to hold her tongue, after nearly three years of being encouraged to speak out and being respected for what she said, it felt… Odd to temper her cursing, to raise her hand to speak freely, to check her references and not say something completely out of place to those of the year 2005.  _She failed sometimes, not perfect, unsure of normality twelve years before her actual time with only faint memories and observation as her dubious guide._  Hell, she had to _ask_  to leave for the restroom, and she had never would have thought how annoying it was with the mindset that she usually just left the room without any Professor bating a fucking eyelash. It was the little things, really, that she missed the most, that irritated and grated on her. Not more so than her family or her friends( _God, not more than then them_ ), but more frequently.

But the lacking of agency was more than a bitch and half.

Take, for instance, the torture that was math class. The last math class she had taken was over a year ago in her mind(if she took into account the few months she lost between her transportation into Twi-World), and she had never taken Trigonometry as its own subject. It had only ever been a subset of her pre-Calculus class and originally introduced in her advanced Algebra class. So she was not really used to this high focus class, even if she knew the material more or less.

It really didn't help that Lauren hated math. It wasn't just that she was bad at it- even if she did acknowledge that math, in general, was a hit to her pride as a usually straight A student- but the main reason she detested math was the fact that it was too damn linear.  _Uninteresting, unchallenging to her._ Unlike science or literature or art, math was more or less set in stone. There was no freedom unless you were highly into the theoretical and advance subsets of math that was far beyond the high school education. Anything below that was A+B=C. X=Y, etc. It was… boring. Not up for debate. It was just not her jam, and Trigonometry was no exception.

It was also not helpful, at all, that Mr. Varner was, as true to her first assessment to him, a complete and utter asshat that used his position of power to belittle and bully his students- as an ego trip through and through.  _Lauren was no stranger to people like him, customer service jobs aplenty had made her learn how there were many people that enjoyed having complete power over another person, how they relished the power of being able to have negative consequences for a complete stranger._ The man was just a bully. No way around it, no pretty words for him, he was an unrelenting bully. He got off of the fact that he had twenty or so adolescents beneath him on the power hierarchy at any given time. He delighted in catching people off guard and belittling them for not knowing the material. Even though it was his job to  _teach_ it.

She very readily disliked the man, simply and utterly and felt indignant on the behalf of the real teenagers around her. She also knew readily that Varner understood and sensed her dislike and seemed to hate her in return. He called on her with alarming frequency, often with difficult questions in an effort to trip her up. Since she more or less could skirt by in the material with half-remembered formulas, Varner was hard pressed to catch her out without a wrong answer. Sure, she would get some wrong, it was  _math_ , after all, but the majority of it she didn't. So she was inattentive and mostly uncaring of the result of the class. It wasn't her life she was screwing up and was scraping by with a low A beside that.

She thinks  _that_  had lit a fire underneath his ass.

"Miss Swan," he all but drawled, looking viciously pleased, "Solve for number one, Mr. Crowley, number two, on the board."

She sighed, getting up, giving Mike a faint smile as he gave her a sympathetic look. Pointedly, she grabbed her calculator, a full graphing one that she wondered what the hell Bella had thought to buy as it was a hundred bucks a pop back in her time, who knows how much they cost in this one. She went up to the whiteboard, noting with amusement that it looked brand new, fondly thinking of the transition she had grown up in, not blackboard to white, but whiteboard to digital. She misses the digital kind, but is not unused to the white, pursing her lips as she inputs the formula. She notes with slight pity, that Tyler is sweating it out, calculator and marker in hand. He didn't know what to do, she noted, even though they were doing an algebraic formula of solving for X.

"Parentheses, exponents, multiply, divide, subtraction and addition," she sang out softly, startling Tyler, his brown eyes slide to her, blinking. She gave him a smile, nodding to the formula again, and repeated, in a soft, out of tune singing voice, "Parentheses, exponents, multiply, divide, subtraction and addition. What you do to one side you do to the other."

"Miss. Swan-"

"Just singing the Solving Song, Mr. Varner," she said, looking over her shoulder, his eyes were narrowed, his teeth slightly bared underneath his ridiculous porn stash, "It helps me remember the order I'm suppose solve for X. And that if you multiply or divide to one side, you have to do the same to other with the thought that they are equal."

"Be that as it may Miss. Swan, you are supposed to solve for X silently-"

"You never specified," she interrupted, cool as a cucumber, turning back to him, raising a brow, her voice sweet and innocent as could be, "Wouldn't it be better if I explained how I got to the answer? If my process is wrong, you could correct me, Mr. Varner?"

He was turning an interesting shade of red, she noticed, suppressing the urge to laugh. She breathed deeply through her nose, and instead turns back to the question, carefully and methodically working out the formula, and each step, showing her work down to the last line before she stepped back. Tyler, next to her, mouthed out the order, making his way through the question. His eyes kept flickering to her example, his expression relieved. He didn't get it wrong, and when she turned to Varner, he was visibly annoyed, red-faced and with a sour turn to his mouth. She smiled at him, sweet as candy, all but telling him to tell her off.

"To your seat, Miss Swan. Mr. Crowley."

 _21 to Lauren, 6 to Varner,_ she thinks, all but skipping to her seat.

Mike looks at her, shaking his head. He slips her a note which she takes easily, having another nostalgic feeling as the last time she had passed notes had been in middle school before everyone had a cellphone and they had learned to text in their pockets or without looking down at their laps. The note, written in a hasty, but neatish scrawl:

_Keep it up and he's going to snap and stab you with a ruler. By the way, am I forgiven for hitting you with some snow this morning?_

She just stopped herself from giggling like a five-year-old, writing out:

_Mike, avenge me when he does. And yes, Emmett and I kicked your ass._

She passed back the note, getting a suffering sigh from her right. She took back the note by dropping her pencil, snatching it from the side of Mike's shoe:

_You have a deathwish. And just you wait for after school, I want a rematch Swan, without the bodybuilder as your backup._

She snorts. Feeling vaguely like Captain America when she writes back:

_I just don't like bullies. And please, Newton, I'll smoke you either way._

She shakes her head when he makes a motion to write back, flickering her eyes towards the front of the class were Varner was eying them with a narrowed gaze. She gives him an innocent smile as he went on his lecture, even as she moved her gaze past his face and towards the clock behind him. Quickly, she zoned out, absently jiggling her pencil in her fingertips, in the same motion as if was tapping the desk, but not actually hitting the plywood. The bell rang off, and she hurriedly pushed all of her things together.

She is halfway out the door debating to herself whether or not she can bully one of the lunch ladies, Mrs. Campbell to use the microwave in the kitchen when she is startled when an arm swings around her shoulder. She looks to the side, to see a Tyler, beaming at her.

"Wednesday, you are a fucking life savior," He said, happily, "Varner is such a hardass."

Next, to him, her fellow Lauren has a slightly furrowed brow, almost absently tugging her boyfriend's opposite arm to hook her's through it. Tyler allows it, hand wiggling across that arm and Lauren M.'s thin waist.

"Babe, I told you to study."

Tyler, still with his arms around both of them, shrugs.

"I did. But I blanked. And then Isabella saved my stupid ass."

"You're not stupid, Tyler," she said automatically because she honestly believed he wasn't.

He was just a bit forgetful and nervous for all of his showboating. Beneath that cocky asshole was a just a teenage boy that put too much pressure on himself, he wasn't a straight-A student, but a straight B one, but he was in several sports, in all seasons as far as Lauren had found out. He was in constant strain to keep his grades up to stay on those teams and it wasn't rare for him to stay after school for tutoring. Tyler blinks, eyes, brown and warm, staring at her. A strangely shy smile lit his usually cocky face.

"Really?"

"Really," she confirms, wiggling away from his arm casually, bumping hips with him to push him farther away, "Math is hard."

Mike, on her opposite side, snorts. She tries not to flinch at how much the boys seem to box her in. It was something they had started to do more and more, and she wonders if it's her glowing personality, or more realistically, the factor of getting comfortable with her. The girls did it too- but something about Mike and Tyler doing it always set her slightly on edge. Maybe it was because she honestly expected them to fall over themselves like in canon…

But they didn't.

At first, she had assumed they would, she wasn't sure why, beyond the fact that only one thing really lined up as far as Canon went. Because of that, she had expected them to fall into the same pattern as they had with Bella. especially after the fact that Edward had reacted the same way to her scent. Despite her not being like Bella and a completely different person on top of it. Heck, she was a different blood type, different ethnicity...

But it wasn't so and she thanked all that was good and holy that Lauren's arrogance was very off the mark.

Lauren Mallory, surprisingly, had taken a shine to her and Jessica had not, which was the opposite of what was true in the books. Lauren M. seemed to have determined her as A, a none-threat or B, just more pleasant than the original Isabella Swan.  _Vaguely, she remembered reading from the illustrated guide that Lauren M. had originally hated Bella because she knew she was more attractive then Bella and Bella still got more attention from guys. She tried to push thoughts like that away because she could already tell that her knowledge of the books was making her prejudice, too sure of what made these people up._

_But the Twilight Saga had only scratched the surface, and people were much more complex than one note character traits, no matter what age. The illustrated guide had hardly given much insight either._

But regardless, the younger girl was a little snide, a little bitchy, but smart and more or less was a filter between Lauren and the rest of high school, a small protection against what could have been a bullying situation. Lauren was not immune to what she was: disconnected and distant to most people, even from the majority of people in her normal life( _she often sought no one's approval but those who mattered to her, and while she was outgoing friendly she made no friendships, for the most part, she was the epitome of an acquaintance, not a friend_ ).

She was overly polite and courteous in a way that contrasted greatly with the teenager attitude, she was not 'cool' because of it. She was slightly overweight, sharp-tongued to those who made her feel extra threatened and  _sly_ , quirky to the extreme. In short, Lauren was not the type of girl to win any popularity contests, even if she had run with the popular crowd in her original high school experience, but that had been more of a chance of fate, of being smart and friendly enough to help people who needed it and have them ask her to tag-a-long out of courtesy. She wasn't unkind, nor extremely unattractive.

But she did not fit the mold and that was the most damning thing now, did not fit into what was more than a decade behind. She was not what a typical teenager in 2005 should be and it marked her a little more then she would have thought. Lauren had not been a stranger to bullies in middle school, and while she had a much thicker skin then she had at eleven to fourteen and would have not really cared what a bunch of teenagers had thought of her, she appreciated what she knew was a protectiveness in the other girl.

_She seen them, people in the edge of the 'popular' kids, looking at her with frowns, with dislike, and she remembers vividly a girl who was being snidely catty next to her about her weight, had shut up when Lauren M. had come along and threaded her arm with Lauren's._

It was the gesture that mattered to her, that what most thought to be a shallow, pretty girl in a cheerleading outfit thought to keep anyone who was less than kind away from her.

Angela Weber was more or less the same, nice, polite, but with a small bit of fire and firmness that came from being a journalist and a little insecure because her taller than average height for a girl. Lauren appreciated the fact that she was a little more mature than the rest of the teenagers, a side-effect of caring for her younger brothers, of strong morals that Lauren vaguely understood from her Catholic upbringing. She was semi-typical to what came from being the Minister's daughter, but she wasn't preachy or a complete pushover about her beliefs, something Lauren respected. She was more of a go with the flow type of person, that would occasionally stand firm in what she thought was incorrect behavior. It had also helped that Angela loved reading as much as Lauren did a comradeship had settled over both of them because of it.

" _You have two brothers?" Lauren asked, surprised._

_Angela smiles, a small shy one that spoke a million words, sisterly affection, pleasure at the question. She has pictures and the layout of the next week's newspaper on her lap, and she looks down at it, her strong shyness coming out in that gesture._

" _Yes. Joshua and Isaac. They're twins, only seven-years-old."_

_Lauren smiles._

" _How sweet. I always wanted younger siblings," she said, and she blinks when Angela flinches._

_She looks up through her lashes and gave an awkward smile._

" _No, you don't. I love my brothers, but they are such a handful sometimes. Sometimes I wish they were older than me."_

_Lauren laughs._

" _Being the youngest isn't a walk in the park either- Or so I heard," she said, quietly, only just remembering that in this world, people saw her as an only child._

_Angela shrugs._

" _Everyone always wants something different. Sometimes I wish I was an only child, but frequently I hear how lonely that can be. No one can ever be satisfied. Or thankful."_

_The girl looks at her hands then, twining them together in quiet contemplation._

Jessica Stanley was more or less the epitome of displeased to her critical eye. She was determined to be Queen Bee, despite the fact that she did not have the same looks or charisma that Lauren Mallory oozed. She was friendly, but frustrated and had a tendency to resent when attention seemed to drift from her. She liked Mike Newton but did nothing to actively talk to him beyond a hello or a casual question about his day. She wanted him to make the step, to come for her, and he seemed unaware of her infatuation or disinterested in it.

" _Hi Mike!" said Jessica, shanking Lauren in the ribs with a pointy elbow._

_She flinches, but forces herself to look very interested in the announcement for the Valentine's day carnation sale, coming in a few weeks and for funding of the cheerleader's competition over in Port Angeles. Angela and Lauren M. huddle around her. Her fellow Lauren is rolling her eyes, while Angela gives a small sigh._

" _Hi, Jess… Oh, Izzy, did you finish the chapter from Bio? I completely forgot about it-"_

_Reluctantly, and ignoring Jessica's heated glare, Lauren gives the boy a rundown of the chapter he had forgotten to read._

Jessica wanted to be on the varsity volleyball team to be the next prom queen, but she was more focused on her grades, the stress of it all making her social life and her extracurriculars, suffer. She was a teenager that wanted but could not get and to her, Lauren seemed to have what she wanted. Maybe it was because Lauren was so at ease with the person she was outwardly, that Jessica disliked her. Or maybe she was better at being observant then Bella and Jessica's green eye stood out so visibly to her as a result, or Jessica just disliked her more, she was not sure.

Tyler, Mi, e and Eric were not idiotically infatuated with her. They were just nice, as much as most teenagers could be, regardless of who she was. She was not sure if it was because she wasn't Bella and not as pretty, or because of the different timing in her arrival, or simply because Bella had been reading signals incorrectly in the first book. They were just three high school boys that had been curious about the new girl and she did not think it naive on her part from how normal they had reacted to her. Tyler Crowley was an overconfident athlete, Mike was very kind and funny, perhaps on the flirty side but he was like that with most girls even Jessica, as oblivious he was to her feelings, and Eric a slightly shy geek. Normal seventeen boys that had she had come to call tentative friends.

"You have an A in the class, Iz," said Mike, pointedly, wagging his finger at her.

She shrugs, wondering at the shorter nickname that Mike had gotten into the habit of calling her. Her paranoia over things was settling, easing off of her expectations of the books, but Lauren was always one to analyze to death anyone and everyone who talked to her.

"I think that was very brave, to stand up to him," and that's Angela, quiet, a small smile on her lips.

Lauren shrugs again, because she doesn't think she's brave. It's just a matter of perspective. She was already in a habit of defending and standing her ground against others- it a reality the art world and society in general… It wasn't odd to have people judging you illy or harshly. However justly, a key to being an adult and mature about it was learning to both listen to critiques and to push against them when it was warranted. Lauren felt it was more and warranted to push against a man that abused his power against teenagers that had no thought to push back because of the conditioning of society to knuckle under authority. Authority deserved respect, of course, but only if the authority respected you first. Authority was there for you, as something meant to protect, teach or care for duties society deemed for them. Not to simply command you.

Mrs. Campbell did not let her use the microwave, and Lauren made a silent vow to charm the woman enough to use it eventually. She mullishy turned to go sit with everyone and started when a heavy arm came around her shoulders.

_Is my shortness just the perfect height for people to do this?_

"Squirt!" called out Emmett and she swore that half the cafeteria turned in interest.

"Hi Teddy-Emmy," she replied, easily, smiling up at the much older being.

He was beaming at her, with that venom filled mouth that made her stomach cold, as he gathering her tight against his side. She appreciated that what she knew to ban e abnormal strength, even for vampires, was tempered to the point that it was only mildly uncomfortable. She made a note, as she pushed gently and he let her go without issue, about personal space was becoming a thing of past with Emmett Cullen. The hug this morning seemed to be just a tipping point as he was already grabbing her hand in a careful hold.

"Sit with me and Rosey-Posey!"

"Only if you stop calling me Squirt," she said easily, absently scanning the cafeteria.

Her regular table was gaping at her, and she could only wave absently in their direction as she spotted Rosalie.

"No dice. But sit with us anyway."

Lauren had long come to the age that unflattering nicknames no longer really bothered her. So she let the name slide with an over dramatic sigh of fabricated annoyance.

"Fine. But I want your little ice-cream," she said, simply, eying his strawberry little cup. It wasn't as if he was actually going to eat it.

"Deal."

Rosalie was, thankfully, not seated with Jasper, Alice and Edward, but rather alone and at the other side of the cafeteria. Mindful, no doubt, of keeping her and her scent as far away from her two brothers as possible. A knot she hadn't known was there unwound in her stomach and she breezed towards Rosalie with a smile on her face.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

The girl, once again, is in the classroom before he arrives, sitting by the window. He sighs, breathes deep, before he makes his way towards her. Relishing the last of the untainted air before he would be forced to interact with her and take her in. They start their first lab of the semester together in relative silence, not speaking before Banner's brief explanation and the chorus of groans through his announcement of 'no textbooks', the girl quickly and easily setting up the microscope and slide, before she peered through the eyepiece. She hummed tunelessly for a few moments, focusing.

"Prophase," she muttered, quietly, squinting down through the eyepiece.

Wordlessly, the girl pushed it over to him, lifting an expectant eyebrow.

"Did I get it wrong?"

Edward gave it a glance, and then slide the paper over to himself, and carefully wrote out both their names on his sheet, and than the answer. The girl hummed, looking down at their sheet. A small smile, seemingly unbidden, came to her face.

"You have beautiful penmanship," she said, softly, just as before.

He looks at her, sees a slight appreciation in her eyes, and he nearly rolls his eyes. In his day, fine penmanship was forced on you, made perfect by sharp whacks of a rod or ruler if you displeased your instructor with a wobbly line. She licked her lips, before carefully removing the slide labeled number two out of the microscope and into a small box it came in and replacing the slide.

"Your turn."

Edward checked it, before he carefully wrote 'Anaphase' on the sheet. The girl raised a brow.

"That's an arrogant assumption."

His hand stilled, and he looked up, blinking. The girl was frowning, arms crossed.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I slide the microscope to you to check my findings, yet you do not return the gesture. Arrogance, Mr. Cullen, is not flattering. You could be wrong."

A snort escapes him. Impudent girl. How on earth could she think he is wrong? He was no simp*.

"I very much doubt that, Miss. Swan."

The girl rolls her expressive grey eyes.

"Whatever. Give me back the microscope."

They finish the sheet, in relative silence, he checking her answers, she rolling her eyes each time he did so. She didn't get an incorrect answer, making him realize, once again, that the girl was relatively intelligent, for a human. When they finish, the girl tapping her fingers impatiently across the black lab countertops, other hand raised to signal Mr. Banner that they have finished.

"Have I done something to offend you?" the question escapes him before he can even think to sensor himself.

Fingertips still. Grey eyes slide his way. Her heart, speeds up, and she lifts her brows. Her mind, ever to his frustration, is still silent.

"What would make you think that?" she seems curious, furrowing her brows delicately.

Edward shifts, unconsciously leaning closer.

"You… You do not seem to speak to me very much."

The girl blinks.

"You don't speak to me either."

He had observed, that the girl rarely spoke unless she was spoken too, but it still bothered him that she would not speak to him unprompted. He could not fathom the reason, but it irked him.

"Yes… I suppose I do not. I apologize. But, I repeat the question, as you did not answer me, have I done something to offend you?"

The girl's heartbeat, having just slowed ever slightly down, speeds up again. Her hands, relaxed, twitch, as if she wishes to curl them. But her face is remarkably friendly, if tense in a way that most humans would miss. He does not. He can only assume that she is uncomfortable… But that is all he can do with her,  _assume._ Nothing was concrete, an absolute with her.

"No," her words are careful, deliberate as she gives a polite smile, "Not anything you can help, Cullen."

He frowns. Her tone is pleasant. Her smile polite. But it does not reach her eyes and her words could be rude if she had spoken in a different tone.

"Please, I ask you to call me Edward."

Lips are licked, and his eyes follow the swipe of the pink flesh, something in the pit of his stomach quivering at the motion.

"Sure, Edward," that polite smile is still in place.

Banner comes up to them, thinking that they are 'slacking off' since they are just conversing, even with the girl's raised hand. When he glances at their sheet, he is annoyed at his perfect script, at the fact that the girl,  _didn't do anything. Typical smartass kid, helping everyone else skate by._ Vaguely, he feels insulted on the girl's behalf- she was not a goldbrick* glittering about next to him. She had done most of the work, but Banner is too assured of his own intelligence in comparison to her's.

"So Edward," started the small minded man, eyes slightly narrowed, "You didn't think Isabella should get a chance with the microscope."

"Actually, Mr. Banner," the girl smiles, easy and polite, "I identified three of the five. Edward simply hogged the sheet. I feel better for it, his handwriting is much nicer."

The man turns to her, indgigant, so sure that none of his pupil's save him would have any clue what to do. He had purposefully taken this from an advanced course- his way of emphasising his cleverness and to get the children to be in awe of him as he taught the material anew in a more bombastic way.

"Have you done this lab before?" he asks, comforted by the thought.

The girl shakes her head.

"No, sir."

_Dammit, not another one._

John Banner was not a man of great intellect, but he believed he was. He felt uncomfortable by anyone's greater intelligence, even a seventeen-year-old girl and Edward pitied him for it.

"Well," says the man, easily, hiding his annoyance well. He walks away, muttering, "It's a good thing you're partners...So the other kids can actually learn something."

The last part, Edward doubted the girl heard. If she had, he would have called Banner out on the carpet*- his insecurities and ego had no place in the classroom before adolescents.  _What a wisenheimer*._ Humans were so delicate at this age, after all. She goes on to ignore him again, hands slipping into her backpack and bringing out a sketchbook. It is a mess thing, full of stuffed papers of loose drawings and he finds himself irritated that she seems so set on ignoring him- perhaps he must be more persistent, like the boy, Mike, to keep her attention from wandering. He is now out of air, he noted, and he clenches his fists before he slowly, through his mouth, brings more airs into his lungs…

It nearly knocks him over, the hard crash of her scent. He could taste her on the back of his tongue, coating his lungs like mustard gas. Potent, fast and devastating. Everything of his body tightens, tenses at the smell. He grits teeth, minutely, before he turns to the girl with a faint, perfect, but entirely forced smile.

"It's ratty* about the snow, isn't it?"

The girl stops taking out her pencils and things, looking over with a highly raised brow.

"Um, come again?"

Edward blinks, before he realized that the word 'ratty' is not a word used in this decade, he swallows irritation.

"It's too bad it melted."

The girl stares at him, before she nods. Her hands, so small, so delicate, curl into a fist.

"Yes. It's too bad. It was so pretty."

"You seemed to enjoy it a lot," he mentions, proud of the normal way of the conversation. She hums.

"It was my first snowfall," she whispers quietly, "I just wish the snow would last."

"You like the cold, I take?"

A smile, secret,  _not_ for him, comes to her lips.

"Just call me Sailor Popsicle."

He blinks at the odd prompt, but just by the way it is not for him, he can guess it has to do with something of an inside joke. Her attention wavers away from him and he wonders if she has some sort of attention deficit disorder, gone undiagnosed, as she returns to flip through her sketchbook and find an empty page, ignoring him once again.

"So," he tries again, "What brings you to Forks?"

_And what can I do to make you leave, and go so far far away from me,_

Something flashes across her face, something dark, angry and terribly fleeting. It is replaced by sadness. Almost immediately. It is as if she cannot bring herself to feel that initial anger, just… Defeated. Edward felt strangely helpless.

"I… don't know," honesty colors her tone, and she is looking forward, eyes distant, "It would not my first choice, but I'm here."

"But why?"

She looks toward him. Grey eyes, vivid, stark and he is surprised at how easily he had dismissed those eyes just a few weeks ago. He had noted their pretty color, perhaps, but never done much beyond that. They are large and... He has never paid so much attention to how many different colors the human eye can have, blues, greys, greens, yellows, and spots of red. Vampires eyes turn flat in a way, depending on their maker, nearly solid eye color with little to no variation. Her eyes are...  _beautiful._ He feels drawn into them, they so different and attention-grabbing… Brimming with her secrets.

"I don't think that's any of your business. It's personal, Edward."

She's smiling, but its a dismissal. Her secrets are her own. She is a very private person, or conversely, she is unwilling to share with him. Something about that upsets him. He frowns. The girl, immediately returns to her sketchbook, dismissive… They do not speak again, and when the bell rings, he has to flee as quickly as he can, his mind still on her, wondering.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1*: I was always weirded out by the fact that Edward called teenagers children. I kept it, but it always bothered me that an Edwardian contemporary would look down upon people, that in his age, would have been adults. It never really fit for me, but I guess you can attribute that to his mental age of a hundred and seven and perhaps looking down on contemporary(in 2005) teenagers not being as 'mature' as those of the ones of his era.
> 
> 2*: I just think that Jasper should not struggle solely for his bloodlust. The projected of FOUR HUNDRED OR SO emotions of sentient creatures would fuck anyone up, no matter the brain power. Its a lot to process and even if he's more or less controlled that's just not feasible. So I say, he has mood swings like nobodies business!
> 
> 3*:Absquatulate: Get the fuck out- think Civil War absence from the battlefield.
> 
> 4*: Elephant: Battlefield/shitty situation.
> 
> 5*: Simp: An idiot or a simple-minded person.
> 
> 6*: Golden Brick: Useless.
> 
> 7*: Called Him Out on the Carpet: Told him off and called him on his shit.
> 
> 8*: Wisenheimer: A person who behaves in an irritatingly smug or arrogant fashion, typically by making clever remarks and displaying their knowledge.
> 
> 9*: Ratty: Sucks or is too bad.
> 
> Good grief I've been trying to finish this chapter since the fifth of July but I am in the process of an out of town internship(for a solid month and a half) that requires my attention so much. So sorry my lovely readers, I would have had this published a few days ago but real life sort of got in the way. I hope you enjoy the chapter and happy reading!
> 
> ~Moon Witch '96


	12. Pulling of the Stings

**Pulling of the Strings**

' _Phenomenon Part I'_

_25 January 2005_

In retrospect, it's her arrogance that royally screws her up.

Foreknowledge was a tool to be used, paranoia is her friend. But Lauren Calderon also severally miscalculates, missing a factor entirely in the grand scheme of things. Something she had never really anticipated. But  _should_ have. The fact that her being in Twi-World is not just an unusual happenstance or a quirk of sliding through alternate dimensions. From the very beginning, she should have felt something more than off when she woke in Isabella Swan's place other than the situation itself.

Why else would her clothes be different when she woke up, why else would she be in a time that was in contrast to the book? But it had never occurred to her that that off-ness was a result of something other then incredibility of falling into a world of literature. Hindsight is supposedly twenty-twenty, and for Lauren… Well, beyond being crystal clear what she was dealing with it was simply a moment of sheer  _rage_ in retrospect at herself for not realizing it in the first place.

For merely slipping into Twilight was not what happened to her. That implied a sense of passiveness innately, of her place as Isabella was simply a mistake, thinking her arrival in Forks to be entirely a quirk of the multiverse. Like  _Lost in Austen,_ she had thought, perhaps, that seventeen-year-old Bella had perhaps slipped into her reality, they, switched places, she perhaps lost somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. It had been a vague theory, or maybe Bella had stumbled into  _her_ place, woken in a disjointed manner as she had, and left her home before anyone in her family home noticed. Everyone save her was a heavy sleeper and the dogs slept in her brother's room, a little removed and tucked away from the rest of the bedrooms, and a teenager like Bella's first thought would surely be to get the hell away as Lauren's own home as well.

No, it was a sense of deliberateness of her awakening in Bella's room, unaware, her phone still with her, her clothes changed. She should have seen it, or realized it… But she was too scared, too out of sorts to even think to realize something, only set on getting  _away._ Maybe, later, she should have seen the intent in it.

Seen the manipulation in it all.

But she is too confident in her actions in Forks, in slowly moving things to her favor, with little to no thought to the  _why_ or the  _how_ , as the lack of evidence towards anything moved her priorities elsewhere. She was a vulnerable creature in a game she vaguely knew the rules too, in a place where one wrong move could leave her an immortal sparkling vampire or dead. But she had her knowledge, her memories of a series that had so ardently held her attention as a preteen. She  _knows,_ these people in a vague sense and with further personal examination on her part, it wasn't that hard to understand them enough to use them to her advantage. She knows the events, knows what events cause Edward to love Isabella Swan and what had dragged her into the supernatural world.

For being too assured of events and people, of her foreknowledge being her greatest asset, her arrogance, her miscalculation, she nearly dies.

It's the day of the Van Incident, the ground has hardened, the small bits of snow she had seen yesterday and so admired has been washed away with the rain after lunch, and replaced by solid, deadly ice. In Texas, many people freak out over ice, to the extent that many don't even drive when it happens, or leave the house. She remembers, quite vividly, she, as someone who hardly drives to begin with, how she liked driving on days like that. The roads are empty and relatively safe if you avoid bridges and drive slow, the air, of course, is cold, and when she can borrow her sister's car she rolls the windows and just…  _Breathes. Driving slow to ease anxiety or frustration._

School days are usually canceled, she is free to just be for a day or two while the city halts to a stop. Not so much in Forks, Washington. It's a pretty regular day, to most in the area. Driveways are empty even as early as five in the morning, as they always are as she comes out of Charlie's house, supplies in hand that she throws into the back of her truck. The only thing that is different as she pulls out of Charlie's house is the silver glint that comes off of the Crushinator's tires in the still present moonlight.

Just like Bella, Lauren feels a surge of warmth over Charlie's effort to protect his daughter. A gesture that showed what a type of father he was. Something he had not been allowed to do in his daughter's life. That was more than heartbreaking to her, the constant distance both physical and emotional she remembers being so evident in the novels.

But that day that is not what has her worried.

She has the temptation to skip, that day, to just not be present for the infamous rescue on Edward's part or at least the accident that would cause said rescue. But she is too sure of herself, parks three hours early before classes and clubs, at the very front and  _not_ where Bella had described herself to be, as she had been late that day. She finds the patch of ice she is sure that Tyler slides on near the back where most of the stragglers teenagers park, and breaks it apart with an ice pick she had found in Charlie's garage.

It is a cathartic exercise.

Because she smashes it violently. Her knuckles are white with the strain as she gets down on her knees, over a blue tarp she had nicked from Charlie's garage. Tears come slowly at first, a stray drop her and then, but it becomes a real snot fest, pouring tears that sting and burn their ways down her cheeks in a stark contrast to the freezing air. They escape her like a dam breaking, violent and ugly as she slams the pick over and over again.

She slams it so hard that the force vibrates up her arm, but she can't stop. She just hits the ice with everything she has. She's gripping the pick so hard her hand aches… But she can't  _stop._ Every fear, every frustration is poured into this.

Lauren leaves nothing to chance.

She spends the next three hours in the dark, going about the parking lot like that, sweeping away the remains to the banks of hard ground into the tarp, back aching, her cotton gloves soaked through but satisfied by the time she's done. Her chest is heaving, and snot and tears run down her face. She tosses the ice from the tarp into the forest before she throws it back into the Curshinator's truck bed. Her chest is still heaving and she is wiping her face with a tissue, first her puffy eyes and then her nose. Her hands ache, curled in too much cold and use, but she thinks herself so clever, so happy with her perfect solution. She is laughing, a tad hysterically at her job well done, at saving Tyler the trip to the emergency room.

She is leaning against the gym, waiting for Coach Clapp to open the locker rooms when people start to arrive, removing her gloves and stuffing her red, raw hands into her pockets for the warmth. She is so sure of herself. She is nowhere near the back of the parking lot. So when she faintly locks eye contact with Edward as he steps out of his stupid mom van, his vivid yellow eyes looking her in an intense way, she is entirely unconcerned. She is so happy that she gives him a smile, a wide thing that unknowingly stuns the vampire.

So imagine her sheer horror at the sound of screeching tires much too close to her.

Tyler's large blue van is coming at her and she can't even scream. Only move her head in that direction and suck in a startled breath. Her mind making a quick calculation of what a car going at roughly fifty miles per hour could do to her body when it smashes into her, and subsequently slams her into the brick wall behind her. Her bones will break. An object in motion will only stop if another object acts upon it. Her body versus van, versus wall will most certainly maim her, if not, straight up kill her.

She has only ever broken one bone in her life. When she was four years old, her brother had been playing indoor football, kicking the ball about with a boy her mother was babysitting. She, unknowingly, walked right into the path of the kicked ball. It had been a special ball, one that flashed whenever it was kicked, and she remembered how the lights had flashed as she had tripped over it.

It happened so quickly that she couldn't even instinctively reach her hands out to catch herself. Instead, she had dropped straight onto her right arm. She, thin to the point of great concern of her parents and her Doctor at the time, had fallen with all of her weight onto that skinny arm. It hadn't been the pain that had scared her then. No, it had been the  _noise_ that her bone made when it broke that had her gasping in sheer surprise.

She hadn't even registered the pain or understood what had happened with her little arm bent at an odd angle at her side. It was only when her brother and her sister had screamed and ran up to her, and burst into tears over her, that Lauren had followed suit. She remembers looking at an art project she had made for mother's day, as her brother, Andrew, had screamed for their mother, who had stepped out of the room to go to the restroom. It had been a pink giant heart, with folded pleated arms made out of paper, a 'heartman'. She remembered staring at it through her tears.

That's the funny things about traumatic incidents. Especially ones that happen in a split second. The mind is very quick to fixate on things, to grab small details that usually are of no consequence to the accident. The mind works quickly, picking and choosing details at seemingly random, trying to register important details when the body is working quickly and high on adrenaline. High-velocity movements… High adrenaline. It is why she is fixated on Edward's eyes in her mind, so vividly yellow and the fact that Tyler's van has a stuffed Kermit frog hanging from his mirror as it barrels towards her. In a fraction of a second, she blinks.

Something hits her from the opposite side.

The initial touch against her ribs, of someone pressing their large hand against her side, is almost hilariously brief, but enough in their haste and panic. She recalls the sound from when she is four. The  _crack_ is just the same, only a few times over and coming from her chest. Her eyes fly wide open as she is body slammed away from the path of the van. She and he rescuer land, hard. The person to tackle her flipped mid-air, curling around her to take the brunt of the impact, nearly ten feet away. Her teeth rattle in her head, her hand, caught between both herself and the person saving her life, twists at the sheer force of their rough landing and her own body weight landing on it. Her hip, the largest point of contact between her and the hard body curled around her, is similarly smashed.

She doesn't even register it all properly before an almighty  _SMASH_ makes her head whip up. The blue van hits the wall next to them. Lauren watches as a brick comes flying from the building at her face, and a hand, pale, long-fingered, snatches it an inch from her. A vampire's hand, she realizes, snapping her eyes close.  _Don't see. Don't let them know you saw!_  Adrenaline is running high, so she barely registers the throb of her ribs, wrist, and hips, or the sensation of hard, unyielding form of the vampire beneath her body, their arms around her in a protective cage.

She draws in ragged breath after ragged breath, eyes squeezed shut.

She feels herself fall limp against the person  _please don't be_ _ **him**_ , her chest heaving in disbelief and horror. She opens her eyes after a minute or so, chest still heaving, hardly registering through adrenaline the sharp pain the action causes as she sits up, on her rescuer's chest to twist her torso slightly to look back at the thing that just nearly killed her. The van's front is completely smashed, and the wall is… caved in.

"Tyler," she croaks out, her voice thick. This was  _not_ what happened in the book. This… This was worse.

_I caused this._

She rolls off of the person who saved her, onto the cold, hard ground with a slight whine at the back of her throat as she hits her hip where it was throbbing. Wet seeps into her pants, cold, from the slick ground. She grits her teeth, bile rising in her throat as she takes in the damage that the van has caused by smashing into the brick wall of the gym.  _An object in motion only stops if another force is acted upon it._ She tries to stand, but the pain in her hip, her chest is too much, and she crumples to the ground. She is caught by white arms, thin and hard. She blinks, rapidly, and looks up.

Edward Cullen looks down at her, dark eyes wide and mouth slightly parted.

_Fuck._

"Isabella, are you alright?" his voice is frantic.

She blinks at him, eyes wide.

_He saved my life. He just saved my life. He's… He's in love with me! I have hardly talked to him- This… This isn't what was supposed to happen. I caused this._

"Tyler," is her response, trying to lift her right hand to point, but all she can feel is a sharp twinge in the side where the vampire had crashed into her, and she finds she can't lift it normally.

"Isabella," says Edward Cullen, voice suddenly calm, voice soothing.

Lauren struggles in his arms, trying to pull away. Logic is thrown out the window in her hysteria.

"NO!" she cried in shock as she watched several teachers and students make a move towards the van, "STOP!"

They stop, looking at her, as Edward lets her go. His hands hovering around her like moths, white frightful things that she wishes to swat away. She hastens to get away from him. She moves forward, hip aching, ribs aching, breath shallow and fast.

"You have to let the professionals get him out," she says, pleadingly, her voice is high and loud, her Mexican accent, normally minimal, thickens and lashes out, her rs rolled, her ls slurred, "You could hurt him if you move him wrong. He could have hurt his spine-"

The teachers, look at each other before Coach Clapp steps forward.

"Izzy, I was a volunteer firefighter. Tyler is in good hands… Are you alright? You're…. You're arm?"

Lauren blinked.

She looked down at her right arm, where the Coach pointed and noted with slight, detached interest that her wrist was slightly bent, unnaturally, where she had been pinned by Edward, just as they hit the ground.

She didn't even feel it.

_I won't... I won't be able to draw._

She blinked, again, vision blurry as she looks at the van and the wall. The tears nearly blind her. But she can still  _see._ The wall is caved in, a few cinder block bricks are on the hood of the van. She can't even see Tyler in this mess and she wonders with growing horror if he's dead.

_He's only supposed to get a few stitches. Oh god, what have I done?_

"Madre mia," it comes unbidden from her lips, the magnitude of her manipulations, she is now crying again, but the catharsis and sense of victory of that morning are completely gone, "No. No. Por favor no*."

She nearly falls again, but this time, its Rosalie that catches her. Rosalie's hands are steady on her shoulders, her fingers curled steadily over them to hold her up. But her eyes are wide as she guides Lauren down onto the ground sitting her down where Emmett had deposited his bomber jacket. He hovers over the both of them, a hilarious bodyguard that completely covers her view of Tyler's van, his hands in fists. Edward is at his side, reaching forward and is only stopped by Emmett's large hand dropping on his shoulders. Rosalie drops to her knees in her designer jeans without batting an eyelash, shimming out of her large, fur coat. The older woman doesn't say a word, only wraps the monstrous thing around Lauren's shoulders. She slowly invades Lauren's personal space, hands reaching to unzip her jacket carefully. She is checking with quiet, probing fingers against her chest, her slightly twisted arm, and her hips. Lauren flinches at each sore point, her breath hitching especially hard as Rosalie presses against a spot just below her left breast. It is a delicate touch but it sends a jolting pain that causes a whine to slip through her clenched teeth.

 _She may have trained to be a nurse,_ is Lauren's passing thought, as Rosalie checks her pulse.

"I need you to slow your breathing," says Rosalie, her voice is a calm and even, her eyes, vividly bright and yellow, are looking at her face, "I think you have fractured ribs and if you move too much you can puncture your lung considering where the break is."

Tears, again, come to her eyes.

"I- I…. This isn't supposed to happen," is her helpless reply. She can't focus on breathing, can't focus on  _anything._

Rosalie blinks.

"What-"

_Fuck. I fucked up._

"I… Rosalie I-"

The sound of the ambulance cuts her off. It is escorted by a police car and she sees Charlie in the front seat. She wants to disappear. She wants to do  _anything_ but having to face the man who has unknowingly let a stranger into his home, feed and cared for her as his daughter. He scrambles out of his squad car as the EMTs make their way to Tyler in the van, head whipping back and forth, curls bouncing almost comically as he searches for her. When he sees her, wrapped in Rosalie's coat, just a little way away from the accident, his expression breaks her heart. He's pale and his mustached mouth is open in horror and panic.

" _Bella_!" the name is frantic on Charlie's lips, a panic that only a true parent can have.

It hurts Lauren at that moment than ever before. To be called by the wrong name, to be cared by the wrong people.

_Quiero mi Mama*. I'm not her. I'm… I'm not her._

A hysterical sob slips past her lips against her will as Rosalie moves out of Charlie's way, his reaching hands going to grab her face. His hands are so  _warm._ It's a stark contrast to Rosalie's hands, to the ground, to the air and she feels it so vividly. Because of its so human, but the wrong human, not her mother, not her sister, not her brother. Not the comfort she craves.

"Bella, honey are you okay-"

" _Call me Izzy,_ " it's a whisper, but it feels as if Lauren  _screams_ it in his face, "Call me Izzy."

_I'm not her. Por el amor de Dios, no soy ella*._

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

"Chief Swan, I think she's in shock," says Rosalie Hale, voice calm as she presses a hand on his arm, "And I'm pretty sure she broke a couple of ribs. You need to help her breath more calmly. Her wrist is definitely broken, and... She hurt her hip. It doesn't look like she broke it or dislocated it but we won't know for sure until she's had some x-rays. But the ribs is what's most concerning at the moment."

Charlie Swan's chest twists. He doesn't look away from his daughter, his hands on her face. It amazes him how small her face is in his hands, how despite how much she has grown, how small his daughter is in comparison to him. It has never shown so vividly than, with his little girl dwarfed in that big, black furred coat around her shoulders, his big meaty hands on either side of her face. Her skin is pale as chalk, her chest lifting in quick, shallow breaths.

Her pupils he notices, are blow large, her body trembling even underneath that thick fur.  _Medical shock._  He squashes down his panic, the dread, and fright that had started when he had gotten the call from the station of the accident at Forks High School. When his daughter's name had come up, Charlie hadn't thought. Only thrown himself back into his squad car and raced away from his casual patrol, found the Ambulance midway and followed with his heart in his throat.

But right now it isn't about him. Or his fear. His daughter is coming down from her adrenaline high, no doubt, and is in the midst of processing what he doesn't doubt was a near death experience.

"Honey," he says, carefully, and she looks up at him with dazed eyes, mouth open, "I need you to breathe with me."

She licks her lips, blinking rapidly and uncertainty.

"Come on Izzy," he says.

She stares at him before she hesitantly nods. The nickname gets a reaction out of her, a better one, more then the panic he had received at her former one.  _Why did she start to hate that nickname so much? What caused her to change her preference?_ He gives her a smile, pushing back the sting of tears, the sheer amount of terror of the thought of Izzy possibly puncturing a lung, or an important artery or her spleen or kidney. Rib cages were such a delicate area. He has seen enough accidents over the years as a cop that he knows all too well how much danger she's in. Never mind her hip injury… And though he knows he should take Rosalie's assessment with a grain of salt, he knows Doctor Cullen is the type of man to teach all of his foster children with first aid.

"Okay. In. And out. Even. Not deep or too slow, but in and out at a steady pace. You got this Izzy."

He breathes in, and she copies. He lets out a breath, calm and even. She tries to follow. But the pace of her breath is still rapid, still dangerous. But he doesn't comment, only keeps the even breath, chanting 'in and out' with each breath. Izzy follows best she can. They just breathe for a moment, together, slowing down the rapid and dangerous movements of Izzy's chest as much as they can. He feels tears come down out of her eyes, which are hot and each drop punches him in the gut as they fall into his hands. It's worse because he isn't sure that Izzy is registering the tears as they fall, for the longer they breathe together the more unfocused her eyes get.

It's when Izzy's breathing is more or less okay, that Brett Warner, one of the usual EMTs of the day shift, a man that had worked for Forks General Hospital for a good ten years, comes over. They had just loaded Melissa Crowley's boy into the Bus. His face is grim, but not completely devastated or worried. The town is small. Brett knows Melissa's boy as well as Charlie does, which isn't terribly well, but it's enough. Calls in town are always harder on them and the fact that it involves two kids is harder( _never mind that it's_ _ **his**_ _kid_ ). Brett's face though, assures Charlie that the boy isn't dead, despite the mess that is the hole in the school's gym. Reluctantly, Charlie moves aside for him to do his job. Izzy's uninjured hand flies to his wrist, gripping him in a move that looks instinctual. It is after a couple of moments that Brett helps her up, careful of her hip and ribs, and walks her over to go beside her classmate in the ambulance.

"Is Tyler okay?" Izzy's voice is hoarse. She is looking forward without seeing.

"He could be worse," says Brett, an honest guy by nature, "But he isn't in critical condition."

Izzy slumps, nearly slipping out of Brett's hold if it weren't for Rosalie Hale's coming over to help his daughter. She is careful, supporting the girl on through her shoulder. The older girl's face is tight and she further helps Brett walk the thirty feet to the ambulance. Izzy is lifted into the van without any more trouble.

"Care to drive behind us Chief?" says Brett, looking over.

Charlie doesn't want to leave Izzy alone, at all, and has half of a mind to leave his cruiser behind.

"May I go with Izzy?" and that's Rosalie, her voice is calm, but she is staring at Charlie pleadingly, eyes wide. The largest Cullen boy is hovering behind her, hand on her shoulder. The youngest Cullen boy, he is behind them, his hands in fists, clothes askew and staring with dark, dark eyes.

Charlie's mind flashes to the last couple of weekends. Of the girl covered in oil stains and under the hood of Izzy's car. The laughing moments he had caught when he had looked out the window to see their budding friendship, mostly on Izzy's part.

"Yes, thank you. Izzy could use a friend."

The girl in front of him is a pretty girl, gorgeous in fact. But Rosalie Hale has always struck him as a sullen girl in his few interactions with her, never invited conversation with people her age or otherwise. Something always kept her apart from others, a standoffishness that he had registered as a pretty girl that knew about her looks too well. He had dismissed her as such. He had been uneasy about the whole truck thing and thought that the girl was simply using his daughter to play with the vintage truck. But when she smiles at him, at that moment, vulnerable and shy at his permission to follow after his daughter because Izzy is  _hurt_ and Rosalie is worried... He realizes that Rosalie Hale is a very shy person that had difficulty expressing herself. But a very gentle soul that cared very much.

That grateful smile nearly has him in tears again, as Rosalie Hale turns to Brett.

"Edward should ride in front with Thomas," she mentions, voice hardening, "He tackled Izzy out of the way…"

Brett turns to her brother, brows furrowing. The boy is frowning at Rosalie, shifting uneasily.

"I am uninjured, Brett," he says, and he gives a casual shrug. But it is said through clenched teeth, indicating to Charlie that was not the case.

Rosalie turns to her brother, tosses her hair over the shoulder, eyes narrowing. Her pleading and grateful expression sour.

"Get in the damn Ambulance, Edward," she turns to the big Cullen. Her expression softens and she places a delicate, long-fingered hand on the hand on her shoulder, "I'll update you on Izzy as soon as we have Carlisle look her over."

The big Cullen boy is tense, but at her words, he relaxes slightly.

"Alright," his voice is slightly hoarse, the worry evident there, "Anything happens to Squirt you tell me okay? Anything."

Charlie wonders at the fact that the two seem more concerned about Izzy then the boy Edward, as he is hustled into the front of the ambulance. They don't even glance in his direction.

"Let's get moving."

Rosalie piles in after Izzy and the last glimpse Charlie gets of his daughter is Rosalie slipping her hand into Izzy's uninjured one, whispering quietly in Izzy's ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Twilight in any sense. It's universe, characters all belong to its creator, Stephine Meyer, its publishing and broadcasting companies.
> 
> This is me, playing in its sandbox, making misshapen sandcastles.
> 
> Okay, significantly shorter than my last chapter, but I felt this was a natural place to stop the chapter, as the next chapter IV Drip will involve Izzy in the hospital.
> 
> *Madre mia... Por favor no= Mother of mine. Please, no.
> 
> *Quiero mi Mama= I want my mother.
> 
> * Por el amor de Dios, no soy ella= For the love of God, I'm not her.


	13. IV Drip

**IV Drip**

' _Phenomenon Part II'_

_25 January 2005_

Izzy was staring, Rosalie noted, straight at the ceiling of the Ambulance, eyes glazed for the past ten minutes.

She didn't even seem to register the fact that Rosalie was with her, holding her hand. Or at least, Rosalie believed she didn't. She hadn't acknowledged her, for the past five minutes, staring at the ceiling as she was, with unseeing eyes. She seemed calmer, but something about that thousand-yard stare made something quiver in her stomach, something deep and long-honed part of her uneasy. Rosalie tried to resist the urge to grab the girl's shoulders and shake her.

But the neck brace that Brett had placed on Izzy's neck gave her pause. The fact that color is returning to her cheeks reassures her. She, leaning close to the girl across the second gurney in the ambulance, could hear the fact that her heartbeat, was much too slow and her breathing, though no longer as rapid as it had been, was still much too shallow. She pressed her face as close as she could to Izzy on the gurney, consciously pressing her nose into her short hair. She smelt the artificial nature of her cleaning products, strawberry, and the sweat off of her adrenaline-filled trauma, but mostly she smelled Izzy.

It was an instinct, something that reminded her how different she was from the species she once was. Her sense of smell was so heightened, in comparison to what she remembered it had been as a human and so integral of her understanding of the world. It told of her approaching threats, of her prey. Through smell she could smell the lingering effects of adrenaline on Izzy's system, how it sweetened her already sweet smell, how it made that lime and orange blossom sharpen and how it made lavender and the smell after the rain linger stronger. It was, comforting, somehow, to her. The proof of her life as a corpse did not smell of their scent in life, not for very long, anyway. To see that Izzy still smelt so sweet made something in her heart ease.

It also helped her keep her mind off of the boy. Tyler, unconscious, bleeding, only feet from Rosalie, was a slightly uncomfortable thing clawing at the back of her mind that made her relish Izzy's scent, take it in like a shield. The burn in her throat, however, was minimal, very manageable, especially with the reminder of her… Friend so close and vulnerable. Rosalie  _never_ in her immortal life partaken in human blood. Killed, yes. Many men deserving of the fate, two not. _Something that will always haunt her._ But she had never given in to the urge to gorge herself on the forbidden substance, the thought of such an action never failed to have her fight the urge to cry*. Felt her eyes bubble with venom that she pushed her eyes tight. It's why she thinks she has the best control in the family, for she had  _never_ given in to the impulse… To the  _want._ Very similar to their Patriarch.

_This wasn't supposed to happen._

Something about those words from Izzy, something about them made Rosalie's skin crawl. Perhaps it was the result of having a physic in her home for the past fifty or so years…  _Of knowing someone else had the entirety of her decisions, dictating_ _ **everything.**_  But the words were... Familiar. A common thing that slipped from Alice's mouth each time she had a Vision that she liked, skewed. Altered. It was far easier then Alice liked to admit to change her visions. They were constantly shifting like sand on the wind- interchanging and moving every which way.

The urge to demand what those words from Izzy meant is on the tip of her tongue, a foul and heavy thing that denotes her paranoia.  _What if she is like Alice?_  The thought is unsettling, to think that this seventeen-year-old girl knows the future as Alice does, or in a similar fashion. There was no way the girl could act sane if she was physic to any degree like Alice. But it would be peculiar, but not impossible to have a human with a supernatural gift. To think that she would have that supernatural gift- beyond her seemingly strong shield...

"Izzy," she murmured, softly, urging. She repeats the name, again and again, hoping not to startle the dazed girl.

Grey eyes, those grey eyes that Rosalie thought beautiful, blinked, cleared. She watches as it moves, the pupil, before, slightly unfocused, tightens and turns slightly smaller in her focus. That pale yellow at the center of her eyes widens, the sparkling of reddish-brown dots shifting slightly in the wake of her pupil contracting. They shifted to her. She blinks rapidly, short but thick lashes fluttering as quickly as a hummingbird's wings. Pale, chapped lips part. Brett, who is hovering over Tyler across in the small space, turns his back, a gesture to signal a semblance of privacy.

"Rosey-Posey?" the voice was hoarse, thick and very soft.

Rose realizes, that the nickname, one usually only extended to her husband, takes a new meaning between her and the girl. It is not romantic anymore. It is not a silly voice whispered into her ears as Emmett runs his fingers through her curls to untangle them. It's a moniker that is said in fits of laughter, in moments of comradeship. Rose blinks, at the emotion that brings. She finds that she has always been the outlier within the Cullens. She is the bug-eyed-Betty*, the one that doesn't quite fit. She has no desirable physical or supernatural power to bond with the younger half of her family, and on top of that, she has never been personable as a human. She only ever had to rely on her physical aspects and her parents to make connections…

As a vampire, those had been stripped from her. Her beauty heightened yes perfectioned to some extent but stripped away at the same time. Her eyes, which had been a near violet that would have had Elizabeth Taylor eating her heart out, were yellow, flatter than human eyes, duller and less expressive. Her most unique feature, her best, in her opinion gone with the venom. Her skin, previously a mixture of rose and pale cream was bleached hardly changing in color, flatter because of it, the mole that had been in the corner of her eye erased, the slight and charming twist of her left canine righted, the freckles that had dotted her breasts, like constellations, gone. The way her curls would sometimes flatten out with the humidity, no longer possible. Her parents never even had known what had happened to her, not really, as she had given them the kindness of thinking her a runaway, instead of murdered by the hands of the man they had sold her to.

As a vampire and after her rape, she had not been receptive to  _anyone._ Making friends had not been a priority as a human and after everything...She had been angry at the world. She was angry at the men who had defiled her, she had been angry at the man that had taken her bleeding form and brought her into this life, even if it had given her the power to make those men  _bleed and break._ Rosalie could admit that she was a wet blanket, a balled up* thing trying to sort herself out in the aftermath of everything. Sixty-seven years had done her some good and Emmett had helped as well, but sometimes she was just so  _tired. Exhausted at the sheer stretch of a possible eternity as she was, unchanging, hardly movable._

But Izzy took some of that burden off of her shoulders.

She… Izzy was a reminder. A reminder that even  _they_ could change. Perhaps not as easily as she would like. But that it was possible nonetheless. That she had things in this world to look forward too. Fixing the Crushinator, a project in conjunction with Izzy reminded her that it wasn't simply a hobby to busy her hands. Wasn't just a connection to the faint memories of the prestige of owning such a thing. It was the challenge, the satisfaction at getting her hands, ones that used to be so soft and never handle anything rougher than art silk* because her father could not afford the real thing, could get so dirty, handle such rough materials with ease and  _knowledge._ That she could learn to do things that were her own, her own merit, not just physically latent given things or her mother and father's sweet talking, but her own power.

Izzy was young and sweet, funny, to her. She made her feel that as if the old, prickly woman she was behind her still, young face, was  _worth_ speaking too. She was not the energetic bubbling Alice with the future upon her lips, the all-knowing boyish charm of Edward who could answer your thoughts, the solemn and quiet Jasper who knew emotions so well, the sweetness and ease of Esme, or the calm wisdom of Carlisle. She was herself, Rosalie, quiet, moody and, admittedly, a bit as the teenagers these days would say, a  _bitch._ Emmett was loud, a little too touchy and completely wild sometimes.

But Izzy did not judge them in comparison to her family, not really. She only looked to her and Emmett, a happy little smile on her small lips. And though Rose's own reservations made it difficult to truly open up with the human, she did not think for a minute that Izzy was indifferent to her, warmer with each meeting. And then there was the way she and Emmett spoke to each other-

"Hey doll," the endearment passed by her lips easily, soft and comforting.

Rose swallowed thickly at that. She understands, then, that she finds Izzy to be a friend. It has only been a month or so of their short acquaintance. But when she had realized this delicate creature had nearly been killed… Rosalie had felt grief keen and true. Not just for Emmett, sweet Emmett who craved companionship far more than she did. But rather for herself, to lose this life so recently gained into their little, self-isolated world. For the girl who trusted her with her car, who joked with her husband so easily... Who Rose saw as her  _friend_.

Anyone or anything that became her's was always fiercely protected.

And had it not been for her brother's hasty actions… Izzy would most likely be dead or heading that way.

"Hi," whispers Izzy back, eyes still blinking rapidly.

"How… How you are feeling?" the question feels awkward on her lips. Emmett would know what to say, how to act, much more personable than her.

But when Izzy smiles, timid but true, Rose knows she isn't failing.

"Like I'm tied to a wooden plank," is her reply, licking her dried lips.

Unbidden, Rose's lips twitch, responding to the quip.

"You essentially are. But it has to stay that way until we get your x-rays and know how hurt you are."

The girl takes a shaky breath.

"Okay. Okay. I can take the bondage for a bit longer."

Rose does not restraint the snort.

"You're getting a little more coherent. That's a good sign," she tells her, smile hitching up a fraction, "Most people would be a little, less jokey about being on a gurney with a neck brace. I know a lot of people would be embarrassed."

"Niña," Izzy's voice is shaking, "I might have broken ribs and possibly a broken hip. I can take the brace. Why the hell would I be embarrassed if it was potentially saving my life or my ability to walk?"

Gently, as softly as she dares, Rose squeezes their joined hands. Grey eyes flicker downward, to them. They blink rapidly.

"Is Tyler okay?"

Rose's heart aches at the way Izzy's voice breaks.

"He's could be better Miss Swan," says Brett suddenly, and Izzy's eyes flicker towards the older man with a furrowed brow, "But you don't worry about him, okay, you worry about yourself."

Izzy licks her lips. Rose watches with faint frustration as tears well up in her eyes.

"But-"

Rose carefully places her spare hand over Izzy's mouth.

"Oh no, you don't. You are not going to worry yourself to death over him. Not at the moment."

Rose has felt enough guilt to recognize the expression that crosses Izzy too pale face.

_This isn't supposed to happen._

The question hovers on the tip of her tongue.  _Do you know the future? Were you trying to prevent it?_

"Please, Izzy," is all she says instead. Because she has secrets. And if Izzy has them… Who is she to pry? Trust is a two-way street that Rosalie hopes she and her husband would walk down with Izzy.

The girl swallows.

"Okay," is whispered across her palm, her warm breath misting across her skin.

"Okay."

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

_What have I done?_

Edward's leg moves up and down impatiently, his heart, had it been able to beat would be doing so furiously. He felt a thousand times a fool for his reckless, impulsive action. More worthy of Emmett, rather than him. He who prided himself so self-controlled! He waited, impatiently, in Carlisle's office, two time's the fool for his reckless behavior.

_What have I done?_

He had just wanted to save her. No excuses, no tell, tell logic for his actions. He had watched it all unfold, shocking him when he had watched Alice's mind fall into a vision of the girl, as Alice had been incapable of having anything of the girl at all. It had been so vivid, just as startling as the smile the girl had sent his way.

And what a smile it had been.

He had realized the girl was reserved. Understood that from the small time of their acquaintance. But oh it in that smile he had seen a glimpse of her behind polite, kindness that seemed innate in her. He saw the girl that his siblings saw on the weekends, that broad, straight teeth smile of hers. He saw  _her_. And he was breathless in the wake of that strangely savage smile she had sent her way. The way her eyes had sparkled in the morning light, so bright, so reverently and reverently happy for whatever reason.  _If only I knew what made her smile so brightly._

And then Alice's mind had exploded in a synapse of color and sound.

It had been screeching tires and screaming metal. It had been red and sweet and even in the vision, he could almost  _taste_ her. And it had been still, dead eyes that lost their yellow starburst and light. Grown flat and cold and  _lifeless._ It had been horrified children as he sobbed over the splattered remains, even as his tongue lapped at the nectar with  _wanton_ _abandon_.

He had moved even before the vision had truly registered.

_Not her._

The sound of the girl's ribs breaking beneath his hand, the hand meant to save her, he could recall it even now. And it hated it. It rang through his ears with sickening repetition. Made him run his hand through his hair, grip at the silken strands. Tumbling to save her, cradling her body against him-  _warm, my Lord she was scorching against me_ \- watching her hysterics for the boy.  _Such a kind girl, she was hurt, and already she worried for the one who nearly killed her._

"Edward, my son," came Carlisle's voice. Edward lifted his head, venom bubbling in his eyes. He does not dare let them spill.  _I am a man. Men do not allow their emotions to get the better of them._

His face is calm but concerned, brows furrowed, his thoughts looping through the new patients in the ER.

_Lacerations, at least forty stitches in his face, seven broken ribs and whiplash for young Mr. Crowley. For Miss. Swan, upper-broken ribs, two, broken right wrist and a severe bone contusion on her hip. Thankfully not broken. Overnight stay for both of them. Just in case. Miss Swan is already on her way to get her cast and will be set to be released tomorrow. Mr. Crowley should be gone more or less the same time._

If Edward had blood in his system, his face would have drained at the extent of the girl's injuries. All caused by  _him._ Less severe, he knew, then what the fool boy's van would have done to her so fragile body, but  _still._ He  _hurt_ the girl, who had so endeavored to save.  _It is just like the past. I try to be a hero, a savior and I make a mess of things. Who would have thought that I would fall into that life once again? And over_ _ **her?**_

"I… I couldn't let her blood spill," the lie is so easy to slip past his tongue, bitter, but Carlisle's expression does not change, still that firm, calm and concerned vistage, "It would have exposed us."

His father sighs, rubbing at his strong jaw.

"I suppose, with her being your Singer," he muttered, "It could be a defense in case of any leaking into the media. As small as Forks is, it is very likely. It being our current residence the Authorities will know. I will send a message myself to take away any suspicion on our part."

"Her eyes were closed. I doubt she saw anything," he blurts, desperate, "We do not need to bring the Volturi into this."

Stern golden eyes look to him, face pained.

"We can only hope for the girl's sake. But we must report this Edward. We cannot let anyone believe us negligent in our position. We can keep your name out of the media completely as a minor, and down play your actual involvement, but we cannot ignore the issue. If worst comes to worst it will make Ms. Swan's case even more precautious in the eyes of our laws."

Edward felt a growing growl.

"She is innocent of our world! She is not to be involved."

Carlisle sighs, shaking his head.

"You brought her into our world with your actions, our Treaty demands we do not bite a human. It is undoubtedly unwise to turn the girl in the event of exposure… We might have too..."

Horror, complete horror fill Edward at the pragmatic words spilling from his father's mouth. Were it any other human, he would be thinking along the same lines. But again, as it had before he had sprinted to her rescue, his mind was screaming,  _not her!_

"Kill her?" he whispers, stupefied at the thought.

Carlisle falls to his desk chair, head falling to his hands.

"At worst. I loathe to take any life but-" he whispers.

_It is my oath to protect all life, to do no harm, but there are laws that I must abide for the survival of my family._

Something shriveled in his stomach, something  _roared_ in his heart.

" _NO!_ " it is a roar of noise from his mouth.

Carlisle blinked before his golden eyes went wide.

"Son, nothing pains me more. But it is a possibility we cannot rule out. You know the law."

_Why does it feel as if the world itself is crumbling?_

"But-"

"Rosalie will determine what the girl has seen."

_Why her? Why trust that… That assassin!_

"We hold a family meeting in the morning, an hour after my shift ends… We will determine whether or not Isabella Swan will suffer the consequences of our existence."

Carlisle looked at his hands, venom swimming in his eyes and he did not stop the tears that fell. Edward felt his heart drop.

_She can't die at our hands._ _**I** _ _will not allow it._

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Lauren was more than a little numb. Partly because of the strong pain-killers that had even her system a little fuzzy, and because of her own introspection of the sequence of events that landed her in Forks General Hospital, despite her best efforts.

_Is fate, in this case, the book's plot, unavoidable? Set in stone? So many things are different, but in the end, they are shallow differences. Different dates then stated in canon, more trips to La Push, different reactions from specific char-_ _**people** _ _that are supposed to love or hate Isabella Swan. Or the person playing her in this case. But so many things are the same. The Van Incident, Bella's first meeting with Edward have gone more or less to canon, the first despite my best efforts, the second on purpose._

_What else_ _**can't** _ _I change?_

_What_ _**can** _ _I change?_

_What is making things sync up? What is the best course of action to take?_

_Flee? Tempting. But to what merit? How sustainable with so little income and documentation pertaining to a seventeen-year-old girl… What the fuck was that lawyers name? J-something? Some common name that I can't track down easily. And super expensive, way out of my pay-grade, that's for sure. Asylum with Billy? Worst case scenario-_

Her head fuzzy lashes fluttering rapidly and her breath shallow but steady.

_Broken ribs, two. Broken wrist. Bruised hips, nearly all the way to the bone. Four to six weeks on all injuries to heal. Fleeing even less tempting._

Charlie was snoring next to her, sitting on a chair with his forearms against the sheets, mouth open as he drooled on the sheets. He had fallen asleep two hours ago, hand in hers, grip delicate and mumbling about stories of his youth, before Renee… She was very aware of Rosalie, feet from her curled up in the armchair on the far side of the room. She had her eyes closed, her mouth slightly parted, delicate and impossibly long lashes fluttering slightly, her chest movements slow and easy.

_You're a good actress._

"You should sleep," says Rosalie, eyelids fluttering open. Her eyes, her eyes in the dark take a predatory sheen. It's not quite the reflection of an animal's eye, like a dog or a deer, but something kind of close, so slight that she thinks most would miss it if they weren't looking for. She fakes a yawn, her venom coated teeth gleam in the darkened room.

_How the fuck you guys aren't caught, is beyond me. Note to self, try not to talk right now Calderon._

Lauren gives a lopsided smile, the drugs strong and making everything muted. She processed drugs very well as a general rule, but then again she has never been this heavily medicated.

"Can't," her words slur. She tries to swallow, to say words carefully, but her tongue and jaw feel heavy, "I 'most died to… today."

Lauren has never had a near-death experience before. She's nearly drowned, before, as a kid, several times in fact… But it wasn't death drowning. More like an unpleasant situation that caused wet clothes and slight burning throat. Never has she ever been this close to death… Other then each time she sat next to Edward, she supposes. But that's neither here nor there. Rosalie frowns, gets up from her curled position on the armchair, and all but glides over to the other side of her hospital bed, opposite of Charlie.

_Was… Was this what the men that raped you saw before they died? A gleaming ghostly figure, beauty flashing in the night, a ghost with red eyes and a wedding dress? I hope those bastards suffered._

"I know, doll," a ghost of a smile on those pale lips, "But you didn't."

A hand, soft and so  _cold_ on her forehead. It gently goes through her hair, carefully combing it.

_Doll is new… Slang from days gone by? Hah. Vampire stylist._

"It waaa-z so… Sccc-scary. I don' wanna die. No quiero morir… Estoy taaan… joven." It's a double plea, a truthful confession. Lauren didn't want to die so young. She wasn't a stranger to death, but like most twenty-year-olds, she fought the end being so  _soon._

Honey blonde brows squish together.

"Yeah, you are a little young to die… Was this the first time you lived through something like this, Isabella?"

_Not that name again. And… And I think she's trying to get information out of me. FOCUS LAUREN._

"S...Si… First. And… I-Izzy. Just Izzy. Isabella is… Not me."

A few tears escape.  _If she kills me, it will be gentle._ The thought sends her heartbeat up, she hears the monitor, and above her, Rosalie's blinks and her hand, so gentle in her hair, stops.

"We're okay, doll. Don't worry. You're safe. I… Will make sure you stay safe."

_That's not a promise you can keep Rosalie Hale._

"I… I tt-think you're bb-bro-ther beat you to the pp-punch," she giggles, softly.

Golden eyes, so strange in the dim light, focus. So strong and alien, even in her drugged up state, something cold travels down Lauren's spine.

_Fuck. Coja me._

"He… He's always… Hoverin'. Thank God he was in the right p-place. It happened… So fast. Don'... Don' 'member much. Cc-closed my eyes. Didn' wanna see."

Golden brows relaxed and that hand in her hair starts again, soothing.

"He was right next to you. I think he was trying to ask you about partnering in your next group assignment."

_Oh. You_ _**are** _ _trying to save me, Rosalie Hale. Thank you._

_**Thank you.** _

"I… I think I'm the worst lab p-partner, I… 'M right-handed."

She, with as much strength as a newborn lamb, flops her casted right hand up. The painkillers, the strongest things she's ever been on besides the stuff after her wisdom-teeth removal surgery(mild if slightly stronger than over the counter ibuprofen), make her barely be able to lift it more than five inches from the bed. Rosalie clicks her teeth, placing her free hand, down on her casted wrist.

"I'm sure you'll do fine. Make him do all the note-taking."

More tears in her eyes. Lauren can't stop the reflex.

"Can' dd-draw."

"It won't take long for your wrist to heal, doll. You'll be drawing in no time."

_Things keep being taken away from me. And I can't stop it._

"You're… A good… Ff-friend."

Rosalie blinks, eyes shining brighter, glossy, impossibly so.  _Unnaturally so._ It was almost as if she was about to cry.  _Can they cry? Did I strike a nerve? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You are a good friend. I wish I was a better one in return._

"So are you, Izzy Swan," a smile so gentle that it hurts something deep in Lauren, "You are my first friend in so long."

 _I wish I didn't have to be._  It is a mean, horrible thought. But Lauren tries her best to never lie to herself. It was not a nice sentiment, but she honestly did not want to be there, receiving the comfort of this old woman in the guise of a young woman. This once human girl turned immortal woman.  _But… I can't change that. I can't change where I am, who I am or what you are Rosalie. So… Thank you. Thank you, Rosalie Hale, for being so wonderful in this terrible situation. I wish I could live up to your esteem. I wish I could be a better friend to you. I will try because I think you don't want to hurt me._

"I… Wish I ww-was a better friend. We… We should hang out more."

Rosalie blinks again, gives a soft sigh.

"When you're better, me, you, and Emmett are going on a long weekend trip, Seattle. Carlisle and Esme have an apartment up there we can stay in. It'll be fun… An escape."

Lauren can't help but grin.

"Art-store?"

Rosalie gives a huffing sort of noise that is not quite a laugh.

"Oh yeah. And I'm taking you shopping. We have the Spring Dance to think about."

"Been… Been so long… Since I've… Danced."

"You, me and Emmett, Doll. We'll paint the town red, sneak you into a nightclub."

Lauren grins, at the sudden loss of tension in the room, at the softer turn in the conversation.

"Throw in… Throw in a drink or two and you got a deal."

Rosalie laughed, soft in the dark.

"You delinquent, your cop dad is asleep right across from me."

Lauren smiles, lopsided and maybe with a little drool. She didn't have the best control at the moment.

"Bet y-you ww-will anyway."

Rosalie smiles. Her teeth a deadly alien gleam. They are silent for a beat, Rosalie's hand still constantly threading through her hair.

"You should sleep, doll… I'm leaving with Carlisle after his shift ends. I would feel better if you were asleep."

_Family meeting after this? My life is in your hands, Rosalie._

"Thank you," she whispers, quieter than before, needing to say it verbally. Because Rosalie was trying, trying to save her.

She pushes back her whirling thoughts of a book's plot determining her life, of it being unstoppable. Of her being trapped beyond reason in a modern fairy-tale of supposed romance with vampires and teenagers. She lets that all go, letting herself drift in the knowledge that her future self could deal with it. She falls asleep, Rosalie's sweet bell-like voice falling into a hum, her fingertips still going through her short hair.

That was the first time she dreamt of Isabella Swan.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *1: So I know in canon, the Vampires cannot cry... But... But eyes don't work like that. At least human eyes. I know that there are several animals in the world that cannot cry, but for the sake of human eyes, we need to cry. Not even like for emotional reasons. It's for lubrication. That's why your eyes water! I know Meyer explains it in the guide in some pseudo-science way, but eh. I've ignored plenty. So for the sake of what little I know medically, vampires can cry and their own personal venom does not cause wicked scars upon leaving the body. It would be idiotic on an evolutionary standpoint for something that can be so external(eye fluids, drool, etc) to be so corrosive towards your own body. It would be like human bile being the same level as battery acid, like our stomach acid being in our eyes. Which just doesn't science. So... Yeah.
> 
> *2: Bug-Eyed Betty; unattractive or unpopular girl. In this case, the latter definition is what Rose is using.
> 
> *3: Balled Up; confused, messed up.


	14. The Girl In The Mirror

**The Girl in the Mirror**

' _Phenomenon Part III'_

_26 January 2005_

Rosalie leaves Izzy asleep, heart lightened with the knowledge that her friend was safely sound asleep.  _She isn't dead because of Edward._ Rose is conflicted over this, grateful but irritated over his actions. Of the potential consequences. Over the fact that Izzy would live another day, that her young life wasn't taken in a twist of fate. But worried that she would  _still_ be dragged into their world unwillingly. Rose  _knew_ the potential consequence of befriending her but had selfishly believed they could come into her life with no lasting impact. And she was furious with Edward for acting in a way that could leave that to being an impossible feat.

She hesitates but places a soft kiss on the girl's brow. Izzy's eyelashes flutter, and its enough for Rosalie to speed away to the doorway, watching as her friend settles after a fraction of a second of uneasy tension. Rosalie looks to the girl's father, uncomfortably slumped on the edge of the bed. Quickly, she grabs a spare blanket from the nurse's station, the woman not even looking up as she goes past, and she drapes it over his shoulders. Looking to Izzy, she notes that she has plenty of blankets and that she couldn't do more for the girl as much as she wanted to. She frowns hands hovering restlessly over her before she pens Izzy a quick note about getting all of her school work and notes for her and for her to rest easy at home. She is sure Carlisle would suggest another day of bed rest, despite the relatively minor nature of her injuries…

 _It would make things easier if she's not at school._ Rose shakes her head sharply at the thought,  _She's fine. She didn't see anything. She's going to live. They won't kill her. I won't let them, they_ _ **can't.**_

She goes to meet Carlisle in the parking lot and is curious to find that his Mercedes is there in the lot, with the keys in the ignition, a note in the driver's seat.

_Drive this home. Edward insisted that he wished to speak with you privately._

_~Carlisle_

"Why were you still in there?" comes a soft voice, and its Edward, emerging from the shadows. He is like a phantom, coming from the tree-line as he does, his skin faintly luminous to her sharp eyes, even before he passes under the sharp light of the lone streetlight in the space.

Rosalie looks at him, brows furrowing as he is glaring at her. His eyes are pitch dark, vivid against his pale skin and the bruises underneath his eyes are near violet in the paleness. She scowls at him, and if she had a heartbeat it would be speeding up in horror.

"What are  _you_ doing so near the hospital with your eyes that color, you imbecile!?" she hisses, her voice soft, but deadly in both her horror and sheer  _fury_ at his recklessness.

There were hundreds of injured and infirm people within the hospital, not to mention his damn  _singer_ within only a hundred feet of him. Bleeding, vulnerable people that Edward could harm in his recklessness.

_You fool. Do you have any idea what you are risking?!_

"I am well under control," he says, eyes narrowing. His expression, pinched, narrowed further, his mouth a flat line, "You forget Rosalie, I am not the one to generally lose control in the family."

_How dare you bring that up right now._

The mention of Emmett's incidents infuriates her further, as much as his eye color, as was this seeming integration. Emmett was the physically strongest of them all, but her husband was remarkably sensitive in other ways,  _vulnerable_ , emotionally in a way that surprised most people. And the worst of it was that he was rare to break his attitude of ease to defend himself. That was left to her, she who had a more aggressive personality. The two people he had killed, no matter that it was when he was young and even stronger due to is recent turning, were stains on his soul that she did not think that her husband would ever recover from. He tried. Tried his damndest to make up for it, as she did for the two men that Royce had hired, by being generous with the wealth they tended to gather and donate to every charity that they found to be good, to make their best to their families no matter how much time had past and keep them well-to-do and never down on their luck. It was different for Edward-

 _Your kills have always been your choice,_ she practically screamed at him,  _And what have you done to make up for it? You didn't even know their names half the time. Can you count how many lives you have taken, and truly said that you have tried your damnedest to atone for it?_

His stricken expression was all she needed to validate her mental attack on him. She gave her best sneer, lifting her chin against the older vampire, and crossed her arms.

"Edward, what is this about? I just wanted to make sure my friend was alright, that she hadn't-"

Edward growls. Right at her, a deep, menacing sound that causes the windows of Carlisle's Mercedes to rattle within their frame.

"Do not try and play her friend right now, Rosalie. You are the assassin among use, the most callous! No doubt you were trying your best to keep our secret safe above all cost-"

Rosalie blinks.

"Dry up*," she hisses, hands curling into claws, "Or I will tear your damn head off right at this moment Edward Anthony. Get out of my sight and go  _home_ so we can discuss this with witnesses."

He stares at her, her chest heaving before he lifted his chin.

"You have always been crass Rosalie, unfittingly unladylike… To threaten me. May I remind you I am faster than you, not to mention male. In a physical confrontation, I would dominate you, let alone my mental-"

Rosalie acted without thought, without a moment for him to finish his sentence. She had him pinned and with his arms above his head. She glares at him, her folded legs pressed heavily into his chest. She digs her knees into his chest tighter, and she is viciously pleased how breath escaped him, so close to a high whine.

_No one dominates me. Especially a_ _**boy** _ _such as you, Edward._

He glares at her.

"Are you finished?" he hisses.

"What do you want Edward?" she whispers, tightening her grip on his wrists. So much so she could see her hard claw-like hands starting to leave pressure cracks, hair-thin on his pale flesh.

"Why did you stay with her?" his voice is strained, his eyes narrowed.

_Because I wanted to make sure._

"Don't you pretend to care for the girl."

_I don't have to explain myself to you._

"She's an innocent. She will not be killed because I chose to save her."

Rosalie stares at him, a dawning realization at his actions, at his infuriated state.

"You bastard. How could you?" she whispers, voice small.

He stares at her.

_Do you think you love her?_

He flinches, and Rosalie rolls off of him, landing in a careful crouch. He gets up, stares at her some more, the most frightful and panic look on his face that all Rosalie wants to do is  _laugh and laugh._  He flees into the night without a word. For a fraction of a second, Rosalie regrets how quickly that conversation had escalated. But mostly she finds that her hands are trembling in both rage and disgust. Rosalie leaves the hospital, half tempted to stay, but knowing that the confrontation was only the beginning. Emmett meets her halfway up the drive, opening the door and sliding in smoothly into the passenger side. It's far away enough that the people in the house would have to strain to hear them if they spoke in normal voices.

Rosalie stops the car.

Emmett faces her as she stares straight ahead.

"How is she?" his first question, soft, his hand extended with the intent to comfort.

He does not force his hand on her, when she ignores it, uneasy with the thought of touch at the moment. He simply lowers his hand without a word as she turns to him.

"She's berries*, baby. It will take her a month or so to get better. More if she flubs up her recovery, but she seems to be a reasonable girl and will follow instructions to the letter."

Emmett, sweet Emmett furrows his brows.

"What's bothering you? Edward came home in right snit. And you don't seem to be in a better mood. What did he say to you?"

Rose chuckles, dry and hard as nails.

"He saved her yesterday. Do you know why? He wants to be her knight in shining armor. I think the boy has a crush."

"That high-hat* has a crush?" says Emmett, brows raising high, "On Izzy?"

Rosalie feels her lips curl up into a snarl.

"He wants her. He could potentially drag her into the mess that is the Paranormal world. I should have seen this coming. He's been mooning over her and I didn't even notice-"

"Bushwa*. Damn kid has been bluenose* since we met. Never looked anyone's way. I was sure he was just asexual. I understan' your concern, Rose, but just 'cause he's stuck on* with our Izzy doesn' mean-"

"He's already broken rules Emmett. He has risked exposure for her life already. That's dangerous and you know it."

Emmett didn't speak for a moment and Rose bit her lip to try and stop the onslaught of tears she felt in her eyes. She hadn't cried in relief when she realized Izzy hadn't seen anything she shouldn't have, she wasn't going to cry then.

"We should stop beating our gums*. There's a family meetin'."

Rose sighed, and nods, starting the car again. Everyone is on the porch, Esme, looking the picture of motherly concern, is wringing her hands by the time they park the car on the side of the house. Rosalie tosses they keys in Carlisle's direction and he catches it with ease, face and stance grim. Alice and Jasper, as most times, are stark opposites. Alice is vibrating in place, eyes glassy and lips moving rapidly as she goes after vision after vision. Jasper is like a wooden post, jaw tight and arms tight across his chest and legs locked close together. Edward is simply sitting, head in hands in his self-appointed anguish.

"Shall we adjourn inside?" says Carlisle, formally, voice sorrowful.

They file in without a word. To the dining room, the impressive room that did not function as its intended purpose. As a human Rose would have adored the space, it was richly adorned in its simplicity of cream walls and cream flooring and dark wood of the grand table that could sit up to twenty if need be- as she was it always unsettled her to see an attachment to the kind of things she had been forced to leave behind. As she sits, Emmett once again offers his hand. She hesitates, but then places her hand in his, squeezing tight. He returns the gesture, squeezing back just as tight.

"We are here to discuss the possible issue of the most crucial law of our existence," begins Carlisle, formal and even, "Being breached today by one of our own, Edward, my son, explain yourself."

Edward stands, and Rosalie vaguely notices that he didn't look in her direction. She felt herself clench her jaw.

_Coward. Fool. Imbecile! She is not to be yours!_

Edward was the best actor amongst them, but Rose saw with some vindictive pleasure that he flinched slightly at the last thought. She kept up to her mental tirade, squeezing Emmett's hand slightly.

"I was afraid of my loss of control. Upon seeing Alice's vision of the girl's… Gruesome injuries, I would have exposed us all. Is that not correct Alice?"

Rose frowned, looking to the younger woman in surprise as she came out of her visions. She nods, tightly, a sharp jut of her head.

"But… I thought ya couldn' see Izzy in yer visions," said Emmett and like most times under stress, his true accent slipped, "How the hell-"

"I don't know!" says Alice, jumping up, eyes wide, and she begins to pace, Jasper, looking at her, follows her like a cat to a bird, "I just- I just saw it! I'm trying, trying to see more of her but... She's being a void again! I don't know what triggers it! I don't know!"

"This could be an indication of how your powers interacting in high danger situations. Perhaps this is a sign of your power growing, Alice, or even you moving around the girl's Shield," said Jasper, quietly, all heads turn to him, and Rose felt a flash of concern on how he was grimacing, "All the factors will have to be examined. But I feel we are getting distracted from the main concern. Rosalie, did the girl  _see_ anything she shouldn't have?"

Rose lifted her chin and looked at Carlisle. She ignored how Edward drew a sharp breath.

"No. Isabella Swan saw nothing as far as I could asses. The accident happened very quickly to human eyes, and she closed her's in panic. I'm sure that Carlisle put the girl underneath what I assume was a strong sedative- she fell asleep so quickly after the accident and her words were slurred. Her version of events will be hazy at best."

"Morphine* will do that to a person," mused Carlisle.

She felt her eyes narrow. Emmett squeezed her hand, so she stayed silent.

"She is still a risk. Alice's lack of visions is a tactical disadvantage." said Jasper, concerned, "I will not have Alice near anything risky. We need to move as soon as possible in order to avoid this."

Alice frowned.

"We can't  _leave_ ," she said, with a shake of her head. She looks to Edward, leaning against the back of the wall, "Right?"

Her eyes haze, for a second and Edward howls.

"NO!"

Alice gives a weak smile. Before she turned to the rest of them.

"I lied about my visions," she said simply, "I can see Isabella Swan. To some extent. Not everyday things, nothing so concrete or mundane. I was frustrated with my weakness in concern with this. But I have had one clear vision beyond that of the Van last afternoon. I see her, as one of us… With us. A new sister."

"I WILL NOT ALLOW IT!" screams Edward.

Alice gives a stronger smile to Edward, raising a single, delicate brow.

"You have the most to gain from her transformation, brother dear."

"What?" says Esme, eyes widening.

Rose had had enough. Slipping her hand out of Emmett's with last squeeze, she faces Edward again. She frowned.

"You are selfish," she says quietly, and all other noise stopped. They all looked at her, but Rose could only look at Edward, glaring and her chest beginning to heave, "And I will not allow you to go anywhere near her after this. You will take a life from someone who has everything to look forward to in the human world. Izzy is young and  _not_ for you to take."

"Rosalie, I want  _nothing_ to do with the girl!"

"Don't lie to yourself Edward," she said, voice rising, "You're infatuated with her! You want to be her  _white_  knight- Her gallant hero! But that is not your place to be! She's our friend-"

"Friend!? Friend? You claim that I will drag her into this life due to an infatuation but you go and claim her time and affection in the guise of friendship? How fair is that?!" is his whine, and its moments like those that Rosalie always wonders if Edward had matured any time in his hundred years. To see him so…  _Jealous._  But she freezes at his next statement, "Perhaps you and Emmett will be the ones to turn her into a  _monster._ Lord knows how poor Emmett's control is."

Emmett bows his head, eyes squeezing shut. Rose snarls, taking a single step forward.

"You-"

" _Enough,_ " commands Carlisle, voice firm, "Everyone will sit."

Rose hesitates, chest heaving before she reluctantly goes to sit by her husband. She takes his hand herself, eyes narrowed as everyone follows suit.

"It seems that the main concern is assured. Isabella Swan will not die by our hands as she did not witness anything unnatural," says Carlisle, relief obvious in his voice, "But now we have to discuss… Your affection for her, my son."

Rose can't help her snarl, it so loud that it vibrates the back panel of glass that encompasses the back of the house. Edward only shook his head, eyes wide.

"No, there is no-"

"Edward," said Esme, softly, gently. Her golden eyes, wide and luminous with something hopeful and what Rose suspected was the start of tears, "In our house, we do not hide ourselves."

Edward blinks, rapidly.

"I- I- I am not certain of this. Rose believes I am in love with Isabella Swan, and that is why I acted yesterday afternoon. It's riddcu-"

"I said infatuated," she corrects, eyes narrowing, "You don't even speak to Izzy."

Edward frowns.

"I speak to her-"

"Not frequently. She never even looks in your direction. You don't know her, can't read her like most people. Your blind to her because of it. You rely too much on your gift. And that is a shallow knowledge, to begin with. You make your assessments on surface thoughts. People are more than that Edward. Without that, you will never know her. You are too socially inept to befriend her, truly."

Edward's face contorted sharply, panic and something like fury on his face as her truths hit him.

"I know her! I know her to be kind, to be polite, to be private-"

_Ha! That's nothing! You don't know what makes her laugh, her favorite things, her dreams- Because you would never think to ask her._

"Shallow knowledge! You're not even her friend!"

Edward stood again, dropping his chair back with a loud bang in his haste to stand. Emmett tensed next to her, slipping his hand out of her's and ready to pounce on Edward if he did something he disliked, standing as well, his eyes narrowed.

"I am! I am her friend, not close, perhaps, but that is because you manipulate her time, you bar me from her like a vicious guard dog-"

"Oh grow up Edward," she counters, smiling viciously.

" _Stop,_ " they are surprised as Esme stood, hands in front of her. Her face was pinched with worry, and Rose was stunned at how she had raised her voice.

She waits for a beat, pointedly looking at both Edward and Emmett. They both sit, and Esme releases a breath. She holds out her hands, in a gesture for calm and peace. Rose feels it settle over her, and she glances at Jasper, who has his brows raised high and is blinking rapidly.

"Thank you, Jasper, dear," said Esme, soft, she takes a breath before she addresses them all. It is in an even, smooth voice, "It is evident that Isabella Swan has caused strife amongst you, my children. I think we have two solutions before us. We leave."

Rose felt a spasm of pain at the thought, echoed in her husband, as Emmett's face falls into sadness. Edward pales, hands curling into fists on the table top. Alice is shaking her head, horror on her face.

"We can't leave her- She's our sister-"

Esme raises her hand, and Alice closes her mouth, looking mutinous.

"Or we stay and let nature take a dangerous course. It is evident that Isabella will mean many things to all of us. I have met her once, and felt affection to her, love for her would be so easy, I believe. My heart is always open to have more children, if such an situation would come, in any capacity, human or vampire."

She looks at Edward a soft smile on her face.

"I understand you, my son. I know that first attraction or love is difficult to process," she turns to Rose that soft, gentle smile still on her face, "And affection of friends is difficult to share, especially if it's one seldom given. But whether or not Isabella will follow Edward's course of affection is not determinate by you, my daughter. It is solely dependent on Isabella. You can't prevent her interactions with the rest of the family. Not if a possible future for her is to become part of us."

Rose wants to scream. To protest. To do  _anything._ But she cannot.

"So let us put it to a vote," said Carlisle, calmly as Esme took her seat. "We leave."

It hurt her. But Rose raised her hand. She did not blame Emmett for not raising his. Only Jasper rose his hand as well. Carlisle let out a breath.

"So it is decided. We stay. I will go and pen an email to the Volturi of the events that transpired yesterday. You may disperse."

They all stood to leave, Edward, Rose noted, wobbly got to his feet, expression shell shocked. Rose couldn't help it. She left him with a passing thought.

_Izzy won't chose you._

**OOOOOOOO**

" _You're not doing it right," says her voice from the mirror._

_Lauren blinks in confusion at the voice, watching with faint surprise as her reflection starts to move her arms in a strange, useless gesture. It's very flowy, pretty thing, like she's dancing in place in elegant movements that Lauren would admire in professional dancers. She finds herself freezing and locking her limbs as she fights the urge to follow along. She frowns, watches as her reflection frowns back at her._

_As she stares at her double, she does the same motion. Stubbornly, Lauren locks her limbs when they try to follow, again._

_Her reflection in front of her hmms. Sweet and so musical that it sounds unnatural._

" _Come on. It's easy."_

_Her lips almost move along to the words, but Lauren refuses, biting the inside of her cheek until the words stop. She forces her mouth open and the reflection copies her lip moving even if no sound comes from her throat._

" _ **No."**_

" _Stop. You doing it wrong."_

" _Make me."_

_Lauren definitely had a problem with authority. Her face in the mirror falls in disappointment. Her's almost followed, but again, Lauren prevents her face from following. It was frightening- as if the reflection in the mirror was the person and Lauren was the reflection. That thought was so fucking scary that Lauren couldn't allow it to happen._ _**She was in control, not her reflection.** _

" _You just have to follow me. Is that so hard?"_

" _I don't want to."_

" _It's not about wanting to. It's about the way it's done."_

" _Fuck you."_

_The girl sighs. Because Lauren is not so sure its a reflection anymore._

" _You're making this so difficult, Bella."_

_Something in her stomach twists._

" _My name is Lauren."_

_The girl lifts her eyebrow._

" _No. Its Bella," a smile, "Bella Swan."_

_Lauren bares her teeth. The girl mimics her in real time._

" _The hell it is."_

_The girl frowns. Lauren has to bite her cheek hard enough to taste blood to stop herself from frowning as well. The girl then bites her lip. Lauren knows that gesture and she wants to scream. But all she can do is stare at the person in the mirror, knowing it_ _**isn't** _ _her._

" _Oh, Bella. You need to stop fighting. Bad things happen when you fight."_

_Bella Swan smiles again. She uses Lauren's face, bright and completely condescending tilt of her lips, eyes, shimmering and bright, shift from its natural grey to a soft, buttery yellow. Her skin, already pale, fades until its an unnatural bleached alabaster. Her freckles, her mole, all fade from her skin. It loses its rosy tone, and though in front of her is a beautiful creature, the sickly venom that shows in her perfect white teeth tell Lauren that the beauty is deadly. And something she_ _**never** _ _wants._

" _You can't fight a perfect_ _ **forever."**_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1*: Dry Up: Shut up.
> 
> 2*: Berries: Awesome. Think the bee's knee.
> 
> 3*: High-Hat: Snobby.
> 
> 4*: Bushwa: Bull shit.
> 
> 5*: Bluenose: Prude.
> 
> 6*: Stuck on: Having pride.
> 
> 7*: Beating your gum: Idle talk.
> 
> 8*: Morphine, um... Opioids are not recommended generally, as there are better and safer drugs. Every time it was dropped in Twilight it kinda made me cringe in slight horror.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Twilight in any shape or form.
> 
> *Edited: 1, June 2017.
> 
> I was fairly young when I read the Twilight series, about eleven and the book series ended just as I was turning fourteen. Just like everyone at the age, I got obsessed with it, read it religiously, bought all the books as soon as I could. I have not read the series proper since Breaking Dawn came out, never watched all the films (I got up to first few minutes of New Moon). To be frank, I don't hate the series, I even loved it once upon a time. But like most books I read at the time, I matured beyond them. I found better, more expansive books with more interesting characters and more complex plots. I've found some really good fanfiction over the years that gave me a fuller story than what was given in the actual series, which looking back is rather bare bones. Twilight, I remember vividly, was the sort of book where I could ignore Bella's limited personality and insert myself easily into it. I've been thinking about that a lot lately and wondered how I myself would react to the situations that Bella found herself in.
> 
> Hence the thought of Eventide kinda came into my head.
> 
> This is sort of a rewrite and critique of the series all rolled into one, with a self-insert to top it all off.
> 
> Lauren Isabel Calderon is heavily based on me- I've changed the name because of paranoia with the exception of my middle name(Yes, my middle name is Isabel) and certain details will be kept deliberately vague. But her family will be my family and towards the beginning of this, I'm going to keep it as close as my personality as possible. How it develops might deviate from me and I'm okay with that. I'm writing Eventide because I want to deconstruct a series that once adored and now feel a little... I don't know. I have very mixed feelings about it, like it well enough but looking back at it, it surprises me how it held my attention so ardently.
> 
> I won't be mean spirited as I write this. But I will be very honest with how I feel about certain aspects and be very blunt about what bothers me about the series now that I'm older.
> 
> *1 Size Range: Depending on the brand, I'm a different size. Because woman clothing is not regulated like men's clothes. Roughly a medium to large shirts wise and 5-7 on pant's size is my range.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed my first chapter, and please feel free to review or to pm if you have any questions.
> 
> ~Happy Reading,
> 
> Moon Witch '96


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